


Where A Light Lives That Never Goes Out

by jotunblood



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Plot-heavy, Polyamory, Post-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jotunblood/pseuds/jotunblood
Summary: Years after peacefully taking leave of the Jedi, Anakin finds himself embroiled in a plot. When he and Padmé are targeted by someone intent on destroying their family, they call on the Order and a dear, old friend for help.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 67
Kudos: 152





	1. Naris-bud

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all! This idea bit me while I was working on a previous fic, but I wanted to wait to start until I could focus solely on this. Got some fun plans that I’m hoping we all enjoy! Let me know what y'all think as we’re getting started :)
> 
> A couple notes on this modified 'verse, just to have us all on the same page: the war is still on, the Republic is (limping but) in tact, Palpatine is still Chancellor and making moves, and Ahsoka is still a Jedi. We're basically running on an extended-Clone Wars timeline!

"You're a good friend, Obi-Wan," Padmé said, eyes fixed on her tea. She tilted the cup by its delicate handle, disturbing steam. "One of my best. In general, I mean. Not just on Coruscant.”

It was, in context, an odd thing to say. She had to pause their conversation to make it fit. They'd been discussing, or rather gossipping about, the senate meeting she'd just come from. There was no reason other than wanting to for the woman to say it. 

A little over a standard year later, Obi-Wan would catch himself thinking back to this particular moment. Remembering it and all its fragile, hopeful weight, he’d think of it as a jump point. In real time, though, the fact was much less obvious.

Hands cupped around his own mug, Obi-Wan ducked his head and tried to catch her attention over the table. She didn’t look up, which didn’t trouble him. She was often pensive at the end of a work day, especially over tea. It was one of the many reasons he made a point to meet her for it. She needed to clear her mind, and Obi-Wan was more than happy to provide the necessary distraction.

“I could say the same about you," he said, sitting back. "There isn’t a woman left on Coruscant I’d rather be caught in public with.”

That did the trick. He thought it might. In spite of the odd turn in her mood, Padmé's mouth quirked. Her attention turned up with it, eyes lighting playfully.

“That’s an interesting qualification, Master Jedi.”

He returned her smile, allowing warmth to flood his chest. It was good to hear her tease, and always had been. For a while, Obi-Wan had worried it would no longer be possible or welcome. So much of the last few years had been touch-and-go. Throughout it all, however, Padmé had been a constant, even when he wouldn’t have blamed her for dropping off. She never did, though. She always called him one more time. Obi-Wan often overlooked how comforting that was until he was between contacts with Anakin.

Anakin, who he hadn’t seen in person for over five years. They kept in touch via holovid, but that was a far cry from how much time the two used to spend together. Not having the man at his hip still felt like having lost a limb. Obi-Wan would never say that, of course, either to Anakin or the younger man’s exceptionally lucky wife. It wouldn’t be fair. As a rule, Obi-Wan didn’t begrudge anyone of anything, and least of all the happiness of two dear friends.

If he allowed himself to think it-- and he didn’t very often-- Obi-Wan would be forced to admit that the path Anakin had taken wasn’t one he’d hoped for. He remembered laying awake at night, imagining Anakin’s future, and never once had he pictured it outside the Order. Anakin had some difficulties adjusting to Temple life, and throughout his apprenticeship had struggled with certain aspects of their vows, but there’d never been a time that Obi-Wan suspected the other was unhappy.

 _I wasn’t,_ Anakin had assured him. _I wanted to be there._

But, as some of the greatest masters had taught, _want_ was a tricky thing. It brought some Jedi deeper into the fold, and others it ripped right out of it. Anakin’s peripheral wants, in the end, hadn’t been something he could contain.

That wasn’t a failing on anyone’s part. Some beings simply weren’t meant to be Jedi. While Anakin had been a determined apprentice, promising young Knight, and a beacon in the Force, what he wanted more for himself was a quiet family life. Obi-Wan didn't feel as though he had a right to fault the other for that.

He’d been devastated initially, when Anakin came to him and confessed that he and Padmé had been married for several years, and even more knocked back to learn she’d fallen pregnant. Not because he was angry, but because he was frightened about what it meant. That shamed him to think in hindsight: how focused he’d been on his own anxieties while his oldest friend cried on his floor. He’d come to Obi-Wan’s room late and collapsed almost before the door shut. Anakin was terrified, confused, and needed his guidance. 

Obi-Wan had hesitated, rocked by a wave of confessions so staggering that even one would’ve blindsided him. More than a decade of expectations collapsed in a second, and in the aftershock, Obi-Wan could see what had to be done. He saw with alarming clarity what Anakin would have to give up, who the younger man now owed allegiance to. He saw, too, how damaging it’d be to demand anything else, though he knew Anakin would try if asked. He trusted Obi-Wan, both as a former master and lifelong friend, and though they'd often struggled to strike a doctrinal balance, Anakin never failed to at least run through the motions of what Obi-Wan asked of him. Obi-Wan could’ve tried it, but it would’ve been a dirty trick.

In the end, when both he and Anakin were shot through with fear over what he was going to say, Obi-Wan beat back his own hurt, kissed Anakin’s hair and congratulated him. His former Padawan asked the Council to be excused the next day.

The weeks following Anakin’s departure had been a whirlwind. The war was still in full swing, and his legion lost its General. Ahsoka, in who’s mix of devastation and support Obi-Wan found comfort, was temporarily assigned to head it under his supervision. After the 501st received it's new, permanent General, the young Togruta was relieved of the burden. The responsibility of completing her training fell to Obi-Wan, and together the two reworked their relationship. 

It took doing. She was Anakin’s apprentice first and always would be. She was fond of Obi-Wan though, which smoothed the transition. In less than a year, the girl was recovered and her training back on track. The upset of being passed between masters didn’t set her back much. She was resilient and in many ways reminiscent of Anakin, a fact that made his friend’s absence easier to bear.

Obi-Wan’s own heart didn’t take much longer to mend, though the process was grueling. Initially, each contact with Anakin tore at him. Seeing him through the blue tint of a light screen was a difficult adjustment. They’d spent more than a decade in close quarters, sharing beds and ships and battlefields. The seemingly unbridgeable distance nearly made Obi-Wan sick. He kept it up though, preferring holos to the alternative.

It became normal at some point. Obi-Wan wasn’t exactly sure when, but one afternoon he hailed the other on a whim. Anakin answered, and when they’d both booted up their transmitters hoisted one of his twins, baiting them to coo. The baby blinked, not understanding the mechanics of a holo, and reached one pudgy hand toward the screen. Anakin caught it, causing the child to huff indignantly. The sound was so sweet that Obi-Wan’s heart felt like it’d been crushed, and when the call was over his chest felt lighter than it had in months. 

It helped, he decided, seeing Anakin with the babies. Fatherhood suited him perfectly. He was fiercely devoted and fawned openly. It was difficult to resent his departure, knowing what he looked like with twins bouncing on his knees. It helped too that Padmé still spent so much time on Coruscant. After taking a year off from civic duty to recover from the pregnancy, she’d made a return to galactic politics. Some thought it surprising, but knowing her personally, Obi-Wan was only surprised by how long she’d waited. Her career had always been important to her, and he was pleased to learn she’d been reinstated.

He was also pleased when, barely a week later, the woman asked to see him.

The following years passed in skips between meetings. Whenever it happened that they were both on Coruscant, the two would meet in her apartment, for lunch, or at a teahouse, and for a few hours pretend they had nothing to worry about but each other. Padmé would briefly bring up whatever was unfolding in the senate, because the woman could hardly help herself, and Obi-Wan in turn would catch himself mentioning the warfront. Most often, though, they spoke about her family.

 _Anakin loves Varykino,_ Padmé sighed one day, idly stirring sugar into her tea. _I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get him to leave. Not that I want to. The estate is thriving, and you should see what he’s done with the Guard. He’s got it running like a machine._

That was what Obi-Wan liked hearing about best, because it reminded him that he’d made the right decision. Anakin was happy. Padmé was happy. They’d made a warm home and beautiful babies, and he could be glad for them.

“Well,” he drawled, settling back comfortably into the present, “it’s good practice to qualify one’s answers.”

“Is it?”

He hummed, taking a polite sip of tea. “One might be caught in a lie by omission otherwise.”

It was a joke. Senator Amidala was one of his dearest friends. He couldn’t think of anyone else outside of the Order or GAR he’d given his private comm frequency to. He had other friends, of course, but she and her husband were in a class of their own.

“Well,” the woman said around a laugh that showed all her teeth, “I guess I’m lucky you were able to make time for me.”

Obi-Wan dropped the game. “The other way around, actually. Thank you for the invitation. It’s been too long.”

Padmé’s smile softened and her expressive brows bent, pinching a little sadly. He knew she agreed. It’d been a hard season for both of them. The war wasn’t going particularly well. The senate was deadlocked on several key bills, and the 212th had been slogging through an Outer Rim siege. She’d spent far too much time on Coruscant lately, and Obi-Wan far too little.

He’d only just returned from the front three days ago. He and Ahsoka had spent much of the time since sleeping. He felt filthy and beat to the bone, and after a debrief with the Council, he’d isolated until the call from Padmé came. It’d been tempting to ignore even that, but knowing it would upset her, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to follow through.

“You’re here now,” she said, “and I’m glad. I’ve been so worried. The last few months have been--” 

She took a long pause, eyes glassing over. Her expression was troublingly blank. Obi-Wan frowned. He knew the senate could be exhausting for a person as passionate as she was, and sometimes he worried about the strain. He didn’t doubt her strength, but more than once he’d seen how frustrated sessions could make her. She took certain votes too personally. Sloughing off her stoic royal persona so many years ago had revealed someone that felt other’s hurt quite deeply. It was a gift in most cases. It granted Padmé great empathy. Now and then, though, he wondered what it cost.

Clearing his throat, he recalled her attention. The woman shook herself and sipped her tea.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently.”

“The weapons debate?” he guessed.

The senator sighed, blowing out her frustration like a storm. She reached for her napkin and blotted wetness from her lips. Some of her makeup came away with it, imprinting a loose kiss. She sat the cloth down and reached for the pastry cooling between them, pinching off a little for herself.

“Partially,” she groaned, then took a moment to chew. "I love Bail. Really, I do, and I respect his commitment to resolving what we can diplomatically, but sometimes he's too obstinate."

She tore off more pastry. Obi-Wan let her eat, content to sit in silence for a moment. What passed for silence, anyway. It was rarely quiet on Coruscant. The noise of the tea house was a pleasant sort, though. The clinking of dishes and chatter of friends floated through the airy room, buoyed up the clatter of a band. The sounds were comfortable instead of clashing, like so many did outside in the city. The district was chaotic, even in early morning, and the teahouse felt like a retreat.

"He's got half of his and three other committees throwing weight and deadlocking votes. They won't even consider letting the new model of ground ion cannons go to testing. It’s the same argument every other afternoon."

"Aren't you on his committee?"

She waved a hand. "Doesn't matter. He has his platform the same as I do, and lately he's sticking to it tighter than fleshglue."

Obi-Wan knew Bail Organa's views on most everything, including weapons development and use. Like Padmé, he was friends with the Alderaanian senator. They'd discussed their thoughts on the war more than once. He understood Bail's hesitance, and thought Padmé did too, though he knew in practice that didn't make the situation less frustrating.

"The appropriate use of force is difficult to agree on," he said, careful not to take sides.

"I know, but the way they bicker like this is all hypothetical-- it makes me feel like I'm losing my mind." 

She tore another bit of pastry off and chewed viciously. Obi-Wan took some as well, buying time.

"You worry about the men.”

"Of course I do, and all of the Jedi. Especially you." Her brow pinched. "So does Anakin. When it's been weeks since he last heard from you-- he'd never admit it, but it frightens him."

Obi-Wan sighed. He knew that was true. Anakin had been to the front. He knew for himself the dangers, and had likely shared details with Padmé, though Obi-Wan would've preferred that not be the case.

"I wish I could comm more," he said, sidestepping the real issue, which was that his friends had better things to worry about, "but signals that far out are unreliable at best."

"It isn't your fault. I just hate to see him pacing." She picked up her tea, stirring to swirl in settling cream. "Have you talked to him since getting back?"

Obi-Wan frowned, feeling a sudden spike of guilt. "Not yet. Yours is the first call I've answered."

"I don't blame you. How long was it you were gone, exactly?"

He counted back, surprised himself with the number, then counted again to be sure he'd gotten it right. When he found no glaring mistake, he was forced to conclude, "Five months."

Senator Amidala rarely swore, either in public or private. Just then though, she cussed, sounding exhausted.

"That's too long. I couldn't even begin to tell you all you missed."

"On Coruscant, my friend, or Naboo?"

It was another joke, or at least an attempt at one. This time it didn't work. Something in Padmé's expression darkened.

"Both. I almost wonder if you'd believe me."

It was the second odd thing she'd said that afternoon, though this remark was far less pleasant. Obi-Wan scanned her drawn face and felt the faintest flicker of _something_.

"I'd believe anything you told me. Has something happened?"

He allowed himself to look beyond the Padmé who existed physically and focus instead on her presence in the Force. Energy swirled around her dizzily, colliding with other signatures instead of moving with them. She was off kilter, and the pastels that typically colored her had gone bruised. Some of that was the stress of the current senate session. He knew because he’d noted it before. Not all of it was, though. She felt muddier than she ever had. There was something else; he could feel it.

For a moment, he was sure she was going to tell him what. Her face ran a quick gamut of expressions, starting with relief at having been asked then cycling through quickly to something like reservation. She bit her cheek, drew a breath, and steadied herself.

"Listen to me.” She laughed unconvincing. "I'm being silly. It's just been a stressful few months. I don't want to worry you." He wanted to press, but before he could, she changed the subject. "How's Ahsoka? I meant to ask sooner. Anakin will kill me over holo tonight if I don't have news about her."

It was an obvious pivot, and he was tempted to say as much. It wasn't like Padmé to dodge questions. That she was uncomfortable was plain, however, and he didn't want to upset her. It was their first tea in nearly half a year. He wanted it to be pleasant. 

Against the insistent prickling at the back of his mind, Obi-Wan leaned into the new topic. He allowed Padmé to steer the conversation however she wanted, trusting that if it was necessary, she'd guide them back.

* * *

The sky over Coruscant was velvety dark when Obi-Wan returned to the temple. Visiting Padmé might've been the most pleasant outing of the day, but it wasn't his only one. After leaving her, he still had rounds to make. He spent the rest of the afternoon lapping Senate Plaza, burrowing down side streets, and descending several levels, picking through the city's crust for supplies. 

He didn't know the purpose of over half of them. Ahsoka had made an unintelligible list. Over the years she’d become as much of a gearhead as his former apprentice, and most of the things she asked for now had to do with _fixing_. She'd taken to filling silences with tinkering like Anakin had. Sometimes he wondered if that was intentional. Whether it was or not, Obi-Wan always returned with what she asked for. It was easier than asking questions.

That night, he ascended the steps of the temple toting a heavy box of scrap. Some of the pieces he recognized as replacement parts for Arfour. As for the rest of it, though, he didn’t bother to hazard a guess. The Togruta had a dozen half finished builds in her room, as well as a few in his own. He assumed the parts she requested would help her finish off some of them, though what the projects would be good for then remained to be seen.

Box balanced against his hip, Obi-Wan navigated the halls, mostly deserted except for a few scurrying figures. Curfew was imminent for the Order's diurnal members, and the nocturnal ones were still shuffling in their rooms. It was the quietest time of day, and Obi-Wan enjoyed the silence as he made his way to his quarters.

When he reached them, he didn't bother to adjust his hold on the box to knock. The room would either be empty or Ahsoka would be where he'd left her. Either way, there wasn't a point. He let himself in without announcement and, as expected, found the Togruta camped on his floor. 

"I hope you left for meals," he called, elbowing a panel set into the wall to shut the door. He could smell tea brewing, which told him she'd gotten up at least. "Delicious as that blend is, I'd hardly call it filling."

“Relax, master. You just missed me coming back from dinner.”

He found that hard to believe. Ahsoka didn’t look like she’d gone anywhere. She was knelt in roughly the same spot he’d left her in. The only difference was the amount of clutter that ringed her; tools and holocrons were scattered all over his tea table. The holocrons were all open, one playing back an audio recording while the others showed beings working through saber forms. If she was paying attention to any of them, it wasn’t obvious. Her eyes were on a clunky old mouse droid.

She’d adopted it after learning the maintenance staff of the _Negotiator_ planned to melt it down. Too many things had gone wrong with it for repairs to be worth the effort considering how many others were aboard. Ahsoka had snatched it up just before they docked at Coruscant, effectively rescuing it from being slagged. She’d taken it back to her room, though as far as he knew hadn’t fussed with it yet. If she had, the progress wasn’t noticeable. It still looked frazzled.

“What about lunch?” he asked, crossing the room to set the box of requested scrap down at her hip.

“Lunch, too,” she assured, hissing when something her tool touched sparked. “And before you ask about breakfast, let me remind you that you were there.”

He held up a hand in appeasement, despite the fact that she wasn't looking. "Forgive my concern. I'll let you waste away next time, shall I?"

"As if I would. I know where you hide the snacks."

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. “That explains where they’ve all been going.”

Ahsoka laughed, loud and girlish. “It’s not my fault you never move them. But don’t worry. I’ll leave the tea cookies alone.”

It wasn’t the cookies he was worried about. Togrutas were carnivorous, and he’d seen Ahsoka tear through pounds of jerky in a matter of days. He kept some on hand for her, though he tried to ration it. He didn’t like the idea of her barricading and skipping real meals. But, he supposed that if that was the worst that happened on Coruscant, it wasn’t really worth complaining about.

“What’s got you holed up in here, anyway?” His attention darted between the holocrons. “Trying your hand at independent research?”

She shook her head, making her silka beads clack against a belt draped over her shoulder. She’d taken out what appeared to be the bulk of droid’s propulsion system, and the pieces were smearing grease all over her clothes.

“Master Plo is teaching some classes over the next couple of weeks. I overheard someone talking about it at breakfast. The first two were while we were deployed, but I asked if I could join late. He said I could if I caught up, so--”

She nodded to the holocrons, then to a set of datapads Obi-Wan hadn’t realized weren’t part of her toolkit. Glancing down at them then, however, he saw they were both open on walls of text. He wondered if it could really be considered ‘catching up’ if she was splitting her attention half a dozen ways.

“You’re going to retain this?” He looked pointedly between the datapads and holocrons, then at the flayed droid in her lap.

“Probably not,” she admitted, “but I’ll fill in the gaps when I’m actually in class.”

That didn’t sound like a good strategy. Actually, it sounded more like something she’d picked up from Anakin. His former apprentice never turned out to be as studious as Obi-Wan hoped, and it seemed he’d passed his bad habits down. Ahsoka did well enough in classes, of course. She was bright and threw herself into projects headlong. Her procrastination and tendency to overload were bothersome, however. Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine her remembering even a sentence like this.

But, it was her choice. The lessons were an elective, and perhaps she’d apply herself more carefully later. Resolving to keep an eye on her progress, though not so obviously as to annoy her, Obi-Wan sighed and said, “I’ll never understand that method.”

Leaving her at her station, he made his way to the kitchen to put on water for his own cup of tea. There was plenty left in the kettle, so he powered up the range and rifled through his stores while it reached a boil. He’d only just finished adding sweetener to his mug when the kettle began to whistle and shoot steam. Snatching it up, he poured a near to sloshing portion and checked the time, starting his count for the steep.

“How was Padmé?” Ahsoka asked, voice drifting over the drone of the recording and clatter of her tools.

“Well enough.” He shucked his robe off, draping it over the back of a chair. “Meeting with some resistance in the senate, but nothing it sounds as though she can’t manage.”

“Weapons debate?” Ahsoka asked, and Obi-Wan hated how easily she guessed. Not for the first time, he wished the Togruta had been born a little earlier. Neither she or any of the others her age deserved to have their apprenticeship eaten up by war. 

“Among other things. But as I said, she’s managing.” Wrapping the string of the teabag around one of his fingers, Obi-Wan bobbed it. Color pillowed into the water, darkening it to a leafy red. “She asked about you as well. Anakin wanted an update.”

He glanced over in time to see the girl smile.

"He better have," she said, presence glowing. "Have you tried comming him yet?"

"No." Obi-Wan felt the same flush of guilt he had earlier. It wasn't that he didn't want to; only, the front had been so exhausting. He hoped his friend wouldn't take the delay personally. "Have you?"

"I was thinking I would in the morning. I feel a little bad for waiting, though. It's been months. He's probably worried."

Obi-Wan hummed, then opted to let the conversation trail off. He didn't need another reason to feel badly. Besides, he didn't want to distract his Padawan more than she already was. For all her efforts, he'd like her to at least retain _something_.

Dumping the tea bag, he hugged his mug to his chest and pushed off the counter, bidding her good night. As he retreated to his bedroom he heard her mutter something about leaving soon, but truthfully expected to find her on his couch the next morning. Ahsoka often spent the night, a fact he didn't mind. Anakin had done the same, and her presence was just as comforting. He liked finding her snoring on his sofa.

When the door of his room was sealed behind him, he let out a tired sigh. The quiet was a welcome change. The city had been packed, a mess of noise and Force signatures. It felt good to be alone after spending all day in it. 

After taking a sip of tea, Obi-Wan sat his cup aside and stripped down to his undertunic and leggings. He neatly folded and stored his clothes, then dropped onto his bed, ready to spend the rest of the night in it. Before bothering with the datapad and holocrons he'd borrowed from the library that morning, all resting neatly on the other side of his bed, he powered up the holopuck on his nightstand to check if any missives had logged. It chirped for several seconds, going live and slogging through data. When it was finished, it registered a handful of unviewed holovids. Nothing terribly important, he assumed, or else the senders would've hailed him. Still, he knew he should review them before morning.

He settled more comfortably, fluffing up a few pillows and propping on them, and watched the short vids play through. Most had come from Cody, who'd apparently spent his day personally overseeing the _Negotiator’s_ repairs. The ship had sustained heavy damages throughout the siege, all of which had taken days to assess and make repair plans for. The Commander was seemingly involved in most of the tail end of that process; he'd sent a status update every couple of hours. The final one, logged as having come in just before dark, said the ship should be in dry dock by the end of the week. Better than expected, Obi-Wan thought, considering he’d been prepared to learn that he needed a new ship altogether. 

A few more had come through from various Council members, reminding him of upcoming meetings or asking after his rest. As he suspected, none were pressing, and he was just considering saving the rest for later when one from Master Windu broke apart. His image shattered and reformed into the familiar shape of Anakin, and Obi-Wan’s hand paused over the power button, fondness unspooling in his chest at the sight of his former Padawan perched inelegantly on a ledge.

He was sitting on the perimeter of what must've been a veranda, legs splayed for balance and smiling at his recorder. The blue of the feed sucked out his color, as did the glare of light behind him. Obi-Wan didn't need it, though. He could guess how golden Anakin glowed. It was summer on Naboo; all the fields would be in bloom, the sun deepening Anakin's skin to a nutty brown. His sleeveless tunic bared so much of it that Obi-Wan could guess how warm he was, too. The other man was a picture of sunbathed comfort. 

The children were a sight of their own. Free from their tutor for the day, they darted in and out of the lowest stretch of frame. They chased each other, playing some sort of noisy game that Obi-Wan could hear them arguing the terms of as they weaved. His chest cinched tight every time one of their heads whipped by, and tried his best to guess how tall they'd grown. It was difficult, though, when the rambunctious things wouldn't stop moving. They were turning out to be as slippery as Obi-Wan remembered Anakin being.

Unmoved, or perhaps only used to the precious sight, Anakin called for the twins to quiet down. They obeyed, dropping their voices to thrilled whispers and moving off further back the veranda. Anakin eyed their new position, judging its distance and safety. When he was satisfied, he returned his attention to the recording.

"You know," he said, tone a rumbling tease, and smiled as roguishly as Obi-Wan had ever seen, "if you're going to play favorites, you could at least pick me. I saved your skin enough times, but I guess that's not as interesting as-- what do you and Padmé do? Gossip over tea?"

Obi-Wan snorted. He should've guessed the woman would mention their meeting. Anakin had likely been pestering her for news of the 212th for weeks. He felt sorry for her, really. She had enough people hounding her. There was no need for her husband, however well intentioned, to do the same.

“Well,” the man sighed, drumming his fingers on the ledge, “since you’re officially out of seclusion, maybe you and Snips can squeeze me in. I’m sure your schedule's tight, but I'd like to see you both at least once before you ship out again.”

The request was dramatic. He and Ahsoka had only been back in the Core for a few days. The war was unpredictable, but they were never redeployed that quickly. There were enough legions on standby for a few months of rest, at least. He couldn’t quite fault the other for his impatience, however. He couldn’t recall the last time they’d gone so long without speaking. Probably the last siege, or some entanglement in Hutt space. Regardless, Obi-Wan knew the long silence was uncomfortable. 

He'd felt the strain of it himself several nights out on the front. While he was glad for the safety distance afforded his friend, when it was dark and cold and there was no one left awake to watch the fire with him, Obi-Wan felt Anakin's absence viscerally. The empty seat beside him felt like a hole in the Force, a deep and lonely pit that cooed to be fed. He never gave into it, never allowed himself to wish Anakin was there but-- often he wished his friend was within comm range.

"Just do what you can, alright?" Anakin's voice returned, though the tease had flagged somewhat. There was a thin strain to the words, barely there but detectable. The insistence made Obi-Wan's stomach ache. "Even if it's just a few minutes. I'll have my comm on me all day."

He reached to terminate the connection and his image fizzled out, replaced once more by an unbroken screen of light. It hung for a moment as the last recording was called up, and like the one from Anakin, it wasn't of who he expected. When the final missive resolved, Padmé was staring back at him, curls falling around the shoulders of her dressing robe. The local timestamp was recent; it'd been recorded no more than an hour ago. Obi-Wan guessed she'd sent it while he was reentering the Temple.

She stared for a moment, looking far more tired than she had earlier. Her expression, usually carefully set, showed displeasure. Not with him, he thought, though with what exactly was impossible to tell. Without having her in the room to read, it could've been anything.

"Hello, Obi," she sighed, her voice tinny through the feed. "I'm sorry. I know it's late. I should've done this sooner, and I meant to. When we were at tea, I almost--" She broke off, brow scrunching in frustration. Her lips pursed to match and she shook her head. "But I couldn't. I can't even really give you much now. Not because I don’t want to. It’s just… not entirely safe."

She paused to gather her thoughts, and in the stretch his stomach gave a familiar, anxious flutter. Padmé's safety being in question wasn't new. Her entire political career, first as Queen and now as senator, and had been riddled with danger he'd occasionally had to intervene in. Given what motions she was trying to grease through the gears of the senate, a new threat cropping up made sense. It even explained her mood, and he bit his tongue, annoyed that he hadn’t recognized it.

"I need to ask a favor," she continued, then gave a snort. The sound was too breathy to be a laugh. "Two, actually, and I hope you'll forgive me for not asking in person. It's hard to know which of my usual haunts are secure."

Frowning, Obi-Wan called up his memory of the teahouse. It was one the pair had been to dozens of times. He knew the layout perfectly: all it's corners, booths, and exits. He hadn't felt or noticed anything out of the ordinary. Then again, he hadn't been looking, and if it was spying she was concerned about it was possible he wouldn't have noticed anyway. Tech could do most of the legwork in that field. Anyone who knew her schedule could've bugged the shop prior to their arrival.

"I need an audience with the Council.” Obi-Wan saw her fidget, squishing the fluffy pillows at her back. "At least, whoever's available. I know it's short notice. And I also need you to not ask why for now. Not me, and not Anakin. I know he wants you to call tomorrow, but please, don't bring it up." She bit her lip, looking contrite. "I know it's vague, but I promise I'll explain if you can get me the meeting. I just can’t risk it sooner. Things are already complicated enough. Do what you can, please, and let me know.”

She terminated the call, foregoing a sign-off. When the recording ended, the projector powered down on its own, leaving Obi-Wan to stare at the empty space she’d hung in. Without the background electrical hum, the room was uncomfortably quiet. He chewed his cheek, mind running through a dozen possibilities for what the woman could need. Not only that, but why she assumed that need couldn’t be met by the Chancellor, who tended to be her first call in a crisis.

If it _was_ an official crisis. There was a chance nothing had happened yet, and the woman was only acting on caution. Perhaps she’d heard a rumor, received a threat, or some sort of intelligence. About what, though? Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder. Curiosity needled the back of his neck, and he considered going against her wishes. If he pressed, he might be able to-- but, no. The urge fizzled out. She was his friend. He wouldn’t do anything to make her obvious worry worse.

Giving up on the hope of having a peaceful night, Obi-Wan gathered up the holocrons and datapad on his bed. He scooped them into his arms and dumped them into the drawer of his nightstand before fishing through his blankets for his comm. When he found it, he tuned to Padmé’s frequency and hailed her, hoping she was still awake. He waited a few minutes for a return, and when one didn’t come settled for leaving a message instead.

“It won’t be tomorrow,” he said, taking care not to directly reference any part of her message. Concerned as she was, he wasn’t sure if the holo had come from her own equipment. If she suspected it of being tapped, she might’ve borrowed one. If that was the case, Obi-Wan couldn’t assume they were speaking in confidence. “Or likely the day after. Scheduling and all. It shouldn’t be a problem, though.”

That was true. While the Order had become tangled up in Republic affairs, it was still its own entity. Petitioning the Council directly wasn't discouraged or even difficult; many missions he'd gone on over the years had been the result of that. The war had admittedly gummed up response times and delayed dozens of what should've been quick, diplomatic missions. They still occurred, however, and Padmé was a friend to more than himself. Most of the Council favored her, and it wouldn't be difficult to round up some of them.

"I wouldn't look for it to take any longer than a week. We can discuss timing when next you're free. Or if you'd rather, I can simply inform you when the date is set. I'd understand if you'd prefer that, really."

He let the words hang a moment, wishing there was a way to assure her that he was sincere. He understood the need for discretion, and didn't fault her for not disclosing. Comm lines and holovids were, after all, not overly secure. Many systems, personal and public, had been sliced into throughout the war. HoloNet subterfuge and comm forgeries were becoming commonplace, as were attacks on Republic officials. The galaxy sometimes felt as though it was shrinking dangerously.

"Rest easy, my friend," he continued after a moment, forcing as much feeling through the line as possible. "I'll be in touch, and you have my frequency. Don't feel as though you need a reason to use it. If I don't answer immediately, I trust you know that I'll return the call."

He cut the line, letting the commlink come to rest against his chin. He sat like that a while, comfortable amongst his pillows. The room’s half-power light, the warmth of his covers, and the call of the holocrons-- all of it was tempting. Despite that, though, he was glad that she’d reached out. He knew Padmé well enough to know that she disliked asking for favors and only did so when she’d exhausted her own resources. Whatever was going on, it was beyond her scope. Obi-Wan was glad to know she trusted him to make outside arrangements.

Not wanting to dishonor that by dragging his feet, he sat up straighter and called the lights to full power. As his eyes adjusted, he ran a mental check of the Council members’ sleep habits, reopened a comm channel, and resigned himself to a very late night.


	2. Yarba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again, y'all! It's very rainy here today, and getting to post this has made me very cozy. Hope y'all enjoy it as much as I have :)

As expected, Ahsoka was on his couch when he woke up. The low table she’d been working on was pulled flush to the cushions, still scattered with holocrons, datapads, and pieces of projects. The exception was the little mouse droid spilling guts onto the floor. The Togruta was snoring lightly where she was buried under her robe, the only part of her visible the tips of her montrals. The rest of her was a tightly balled lump, too long to stretch out now. She hadn’t properly fit on it for years.

Feeling a familiar fondness tighten his chest at the sight, he padded to the kitchen to make them tea. He brought out the cups and spoons, trying not to clink them even as the range cherried hot and boiled the water noisily. He watched it to be sure he took the kettle off before it screamed and poured them both portions that threatened to spill. While they steeped and curled up steam, he settled onto the chair nearest her, hoping the smell would wake her before he had to.

It was still early. The sky was only just turning pink through the windows and the light filtering in through them was soft. The room was quiet, and he suspected most of the temple was, too. This time of morning was always pleasantly calm. The Order’s nocturnal members would already be back in the rooms, either tucked in bed or on their way to being, and diurnal ones didn’t have a reason to leave theirs yet. Meditations wouldn’t start for two hours, and the refectories weren’t open.

It was a lovely time of day; one of his favorites, in fact. He liked the stillness settled over everything. If he reached out through the Force the energies he felt would be low and sleepy, fully relaxed in the safety of their home. 

He liked doing that. It was what he most often missed at the warfront. The communal comfort of the temple wasn’t a feeling he’d experienced elsewhere. Content to sink down into it, he let his mind wander and sipped his tea, thinking of nothing in particular until he heard Ahsoka stirring.

By then, the sun had crept only a little higher. She never woke up much later than he did. Unlike Anakin, she was never late for morning classes or meditations. Obi-Wan couldn’t remember a time he’d ever had to kick her out of bed.

“Master?” she grumbled, voice muffled. “Is that tea?”

“It is, little one.” The endearment was silly. She was as tall as he was now, and promised to eventually be taller. “You’d better drink it before it goes cold. It’s been made for a while.”

She muttered something he didn’t catch before uncurling herself to stretch. Her arms and legs shot out from her makeshift blanket, flexing in a way that reminded Obi-Wan of a cat before she collapsed and shook her head free of the robe. She blinked against the light and yawned, widely enough to flash the dangerous edges of her teeth. For a moment she looked years younger, and so sweet that Obi-Wan thought he’d scramble to give her anything she asked for.

“Did I miss breakfast?” She pushed herself up onto her elbows, shaking her head to resettle her lekku. “Guess it doesn’t matter. I know where the jerky is.”

“It _does_ matter, but no, you didn’t.” He smiled into his cup. “I hope you didn’t think I’d let you skip meals now that we have a real kitchen.”

He couldn’t blame her for getting used to jerky and rations. They’d barely eaten anything else throughout the siege. It was difficult to find things to cook, and what they did find often made them sick. It was easier, though not much more pleasant, to rely on protein packets. Now that they’d returned to the temple, though, he hoped to get her out of the habit. 

“Not skipping,” she grunted, forcing herself to sit up fully. She turned to face him, dangling one leg off the couch. Reaching for her tea, she brought it to rest in her lap. “I had three yesterday, and two of those I went for on my own.”

“Allegedly.” He had his doubts, and wouldn’t stop having them until he found a new place to hide her favorite snacks. “In any case, we’ll go down as soon as they’re open. If you don’t mind the wait, of course.” He glanced at the chrono. “We still have half an hour.”

“That’s perfect, actually. Do you mind if I use your ‘fresher? I don’t want to show up to my first class smelling like lubricant.”

He hummed and took in the parts of her face and arms still smeared with it. “But falling asleep drenched in it was alright, I suppose. My furniture appreciates it.”

She rolled her eyes and drained half of her cup in a single gulp. 

“I changed first.” She plucked at her tunic with her free hand, and Obi-wan noticed that it _was_ different. The one she’d had on the night before was ochre red underneath the grease stains. “The really sticky ones are in my bag.”

Obi-Wan glanced down at the duffel peeking out from under his table. He imagined her greasy clothes wrapped around her saber, comm link, and meditation beads and wrinkled his nose, only half feigning displeasure. 

“There’s no need to ruin all your things, you know.”

She threw back the rest of her tea and set the cup aside. “Relax, master. Nothing important is in there.” She nodded toward the ‘fresher and asked again, “Can I use it? I think I left some soaps in there the other day.”

She had. Obi-Wan had seen them the night before. She must’ve taken them out of her camp bag when they first arrived. She hadn’t gone back to her own room then. The first night after a campaign, she rarely did. She was less attached than Anakin had been, but long stints at the front with nothing but each other’s company still affected her. Returning to standard life afterwards was difficult. Obi-Wan let her wean off slowly, which resulted, among other things, in her cluttering his shower.

“Whatever you like,” he said, reclining more comfortably in his seat. “Take your time. I have reading I can do while I wait.”

“Won’t be long,” she assured, hopping to her feet and stretching more deeply. “Refectory’s always crowded when it first opens. I don’t want us to not have a seat.”

Her definition of ‘won’t be long’ turned out not to match up with Obi-Wan’s. That, or once she got under the hot spray she was less eager to rush. Whatever the case, he didn’t mind. He liked a slow start. Without any meetings or chores, he was free to take the day at his leisure. That meant, to begin with, a very long breakfast.

His only tasks for the day were following up with Commander Cody and touching base with Masters Yoda, Windu, and Billaba. Of those he’d reached out to the night before, those were currently the most likely candidates for Senator Amidala’s hearing. He was still waiting to hear back from several members either way; the timing hadn’t been perfect, and he’d had to leave quite a few messages. Some of the calls had likely rung out because the being in question was sleeping. That wouldn’t have been the case for all of them, though. Some were deployed and so far out that getting enough of a signal to comm back would be taxing. Whether due to that, or other more mundane obligations, he expected more refusals than not.

None of them, of course, would come out of ill will for Padmé. The woman was considered a friend of the Order, and he didn’t doubt that most of them would want to be present for the meeting. They wouldn’t be able to, though. Many simply wouldn’t have the capacity. 

It’d gotten difficult to convene the entire Council over the last decade. War had scattered it as much as the rest of the Order, keeping large portions of it engaged for months at a time, unable to meet even over holo. Even those that weren’t at the front were beginning to feel the strain. Workload at every temple and outpost had doubled. Those that stayed behind had considerable slack to gather, which resulted in everyone having more than their fair share of work.

The fact was, Obi-Wan thought with no small twinge of regret, that it was getting increasingly inconvenient to focus on anything but war. Jedi had other duties, spiritual pursuits, and a culture to preserve, but all of that was beginning to feel like it was dragging behind. For his own part, he did his best to maintain normalcy and give Ahsoka the apprenticeship she deserved, but he knew it fell short. She’d had less than half of the dedicated studies and instructional time that he had, and when the war was over, she’d have catching up to do. All Padawans her age would, not to speak of the backlog of diplomatic requests piling up that everyone would need to attend to.

Thankfully, Padmé hadn’t been booted to the bottom of that list. Her popularity came with no shortage of perks. While he’d been right to tell her that the meeting wouldn’t be scheduled immediately, it was on track to take place no further out than a week.

He hoped to be able to tell her so soon. In the meantime, though, and while he waited, he had his usual daily routine. Having put it on hold for so long for the siege, he was eager to finally get back into it.

After polishing off his tea, he used the rest of the time that Ahsoka was in the shower to finish getting ready. He returned to his room, put on his boots, and stuffed a satchel with everything he expected to need for the day. His datapad, comm link, and armful of borrowed holocrons; a set of meditation beads Anakin had sent last winter; an extra set of legging and under tunic in case he visited the dojo. Once out of the room, he didn’t plan on returning until evening. 

Once packed, he threw his satchel over his shoulder and returned to the living room, retaking his seat to wait for Ahsoka. It didn’t take much longer. The shower shut off within minutes, and not long after she came trotting out smelling peppery clean. The white markings on her face and lekku were scrubbed pink and she’d changed again. Obi-Wan wondered where she’d stashed so many clothes. The dark tunic she wore then actually looked like one of Anakin’s, and maybe it was-- just belted tighter at the waist.

“You took your time,” he teased, watching her toe into her boots. “The eggs might all be gone.”

"I wish they would be.” She knelt to tie and tuck her laces. “Making me watch what you do to them should be a crime."

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, yes you do.” She got back to her feet, adjusting the lay of her clothes. “I don’t even think you like eating them that way. I think you do it just to upset me. I’ve asked Anakin, and he doesn’t remember it at all.”

He stood himself and raised a brow, opting to play along. "You’d have done better to ask Artoo. He’s far more observant.”

“Insulting him doesn’t change the fact that jam is for _biscuits_ , master. You can’t put it on everything.”

 _Not with that attitude_ , he thought, but spared her an argument so early.

* * *

Padmé was in her office when she received the news, trying her best to enjoy the thirty minute window between the end of the day's proceedings and the string of committee meetings that promised to keep her out until after dark.

It wasn't enough time to go back to her apartment for a late lunch, or even to head down district for tea. She knew because over the years she'd tried both many times, and it never failed to make her late.

Earlier in the session, that might've not been a problem. She and Bail were good enough friends that he could overlook an odd tardiness. With how tense things had been lately, though, and how much was left to do before recess, she didn't think he'd be as willing to let it go.

She also didn't have time to do any of the side work on her desk, though she needed to before returning to Naboo. The stacks of flimsi had been growing for months and were starting to teeter. It'd take at least one, maybe two all-nighters to get through it. All of those docs were a minimum of fives pages long, though. There wasn't a point to starting something she couldn't finish.

With nothing more productive to do, she'd spent the better part of fifteen minutes checking her backlog of messages. That was where she found it, nestled between holos from Anakin and a slew of links and updates from her handmaidens. A frequency she didn't recognize had sent a document several hours ago, and stamped at the top of it was the Jedi insignia. She stared at it for a minute, not reading any further and wondering if it'd come from Obi-- but, no. She had his frequency, and he never used an official letterhead.

She never found out who sent it. It wasn't signed from anyone specific, and didn't have to be. Skimming the file over, she realized it wasn't a personal missive. It was a summons. Her request for an audience had apparently been approved, and much faster than she'd dared to hope for.

She read it once, twice, then a third time to be sure, and checked the date received stamp against her memory of her and Obi-Wan's tea. That'd only been four days ago, and her hearing was scheduled for the upcoming weekend. _No more than a week_ ; wasn't that what he'd said? She hadn't actually believed it. Not because she thought Obi-Wan would lie to her. He never had, not even to spare her feelings. She just hadn't thought he'd be able to wrangle interest that quickly. 

It wouldn’t have been his fault if he couldn’t. She hadn't given him much to work with.

She felt bad about that the night she made the holo, and she still did, truth be told. He was a dear friend, and she already hated asking him for that kind of favor. Not being able to tell him why made her feel even worse.

He'd been good about it as always. She didn't think he knew another way to be. Even when he was obviously hurting or inconvenienced, Obi-Wan was kind. He made promises and kept them, which was refreshing after years in the senate. Padmé had almost forgotten how good it felt to be able to take people at their word.

She read the message again, copying down the important details: two days out, midday, at the Jedi temple. She was to come through the northern entrance and wait for an escort in the public annex. A Padawan would collect her and take her to the room they'd chosen. There wasn't an end time listed, which she assumed was a courtesy. They'd let her talk for as long as she wanted, within reason. She knew they were busy, and doubted they'd let her keep them until after dark.

She wouldn't need them for that long, anyway.

Padmé knew what she needed to say, as well as what she needed to ask for. She and Anakin had gone over it a dozen times. She wished he could be with her for it, but given the circumstances, having him home was better.

The thought, or more accurately the reasoning behind it, made the back of her neck prickle like she was being watched. It was an uncomfortable clammy feeling, and she rolled her shoulders to throw it before taking a long drink of water and closing the missive. She pocketed the agenda she'd copied over the details into, then glanced at the chrono display on the edge of her desk. She still had ten minutes left before she needed to be on the way to her first meeting.

She thumbed the commlink in her other pocket, and knew how she wanted to spend them.

* * *

"You're losing your touch, old man," Quin jeered, halfway through a feint that Obi-Wan recognized as such too late. He made to block it, opening his left to an undignified _thwack_. The other's training staff bit like a whip. "That makes, what? Five?"

"Four," Obi-Wan gritted through teeth clenched in pain, which wasn't much better. Actually, the correction was petty. "And last I checked, I'm no older than you."

"Tell that to your knees." Quin tapped his staff against the side of one. "They're cracking like wood on a fire. I'm starting to worry you'll collapse on me."

"In that unlikely event, I doubt _worry_ is what you'd be feeling."

The other man blinked owlishly before laughing from deep in his belly. The sound startled the pair of young Knights on the next mat over. It soothed some of the sting in Obi-Wan's pride, and he found himself laughing along as he stepped back to swipe sweat from his forehead.

Quin let him retreat, his laugh settling softer. After dropping his staff, he mopped his own face and took down the band that gathered his locs and tied them back tighter, recapturing strays that’d worked loose during the match. When they were set, he snatched up his canteen and took a few pulls. He tossed it to Obi-Wan without giving a warning. The other caught it easily and drank deep, nearly draining it, though he still felt parched when he tossed it back.

Maybe he was getting old.

The two hadn't been at it long. After meditations, he and Ahsoka had split off for the day. His apprentice had gone to the library to study before class, and he’d headed straight for the dojo to start his warmups. He beat Quin there, who’d agreed to be his partner for the day, by an hour, which had given him plenty of time to limber up. His muscles were pleasantly warm by the time the other arrived and stripped down to his tactical leggings. Quin hadn’t even stretched before taking up his staff, which Obi-Wan had taken as a sign that he’d have luck. That, unfortunately for him, hadn’t been the case. 

He wasn’t losing so badly that he wanted to call it just yet, but that he was out of step was obvious. He was used to fighting droids, and Quin’s hairpin shifts in tactic kept catching him off guard.

It didn’t help that the two rarely sparred together. They hadn’t been on Coruscant at the same time for more than a day in years. The other tended to shy away from it, preferring the freedom of long missions. Sometimes when he left, Obi-Wan worried Quinlan wouldn’t come back. That hadn’t happened yet, though. Regardless of how long he was gone and whatever hot water he landed in with the Council, he always returned eventually. Whenever he did, the two made time to meet each other. 

That they hadn’t had done so in the dojo in nearly two years had Obi-Wan at a disadvantage.

Quinlan wasn’t strictly adhering to the rules of his form, which was already unsettlingly aggressive. He took wild liberties with what Master Windu had developed, and Obi-Wan couldn’t quite predict his next move. He broke through Quin’s defenses now and then to land a hit, but more often than not found himself getting battered. If they were using their sabers, he’d be covered in training burns. Thankfully, his friend had suggested they stick to staff. 

“What do you call that move, anyway?” he asked, tugging one arm to break the tension mounting in his shoulder.

“You know I don’t bother with naming them, and you should worry more about your own. Those blocks were sloppy. Don’t tell me B-1s are that easy.”

“Easier than someone who doesn’t care about the rules of engagement.”

Quin shrugged, his careless smile very nearly edging on mean. “Doesn’t hurt to be kept on your toes. With Skywalker gone, you probably aren’t getting enough of that. I distinctly remember him wiping the mat with you.”

“Only in hand-to-hand,” Obi-Wan stressed, which was true. Anakin’s disregard for rules and longer reach, not to mention the advantage his height and weight granted, often resulted in Obi-Wan getting smeared. That was only when they left off sabers, however. When blades were involved, Obi-Wan usually won. He knew all of Anakin’s tricks and could wait his stamina out. “And I learned a lot from those failures. Perhaps you’d like to see.”

Quinlan shook his head. "I can think of a few less embarrassing ways to end up on my back."

He had the nerve to wink, at which Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Before he could think of something to lob back however, his commlink chimed. The sound was dulled by the folds of his robe, lying abandoned at the edge of the mat. He might’ve thought he imagined the sound if Quin’s attention hadn’t whipped.

“Expecting someone?” 

He wasn’t, but that rarely mattered. People contacted him at all sorts of hours. None of his friends or colleagues kept the same schedule he did. It could’ve been any one of them; impossible to guess.

“No,” he said, swapping to tug the other arm and finish out his stretch, “but I suppose it’s important. Do you mind?”

Quin shrugged. “Be my guest. Don’t think that’ll get you out of finishing the match, though. You could still come back.”

Obi-Wan wasn’t so sure. Quin was being a decent sport, though, so it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Refill your canteen.” He dropped his arms before making his way to where his commlink lay buried. “And if you’re feeling moved, perhaps you could finally take a moment to stretch."

Quin crooned _yes, master_ before jogging off to the fountains. Obi-Wan shook his head after him, though the annoyance was mostly feigned. When he reached the edge of the mat he dropped into a crouch, fishing through the folds of his robe for the device. He found it quickly and opened a channel, not bothering to check who the call was coming from. He’d learn that soon enough, in any case.

“Listening,” he said, dropping onto the mat. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

“You better be,” came Padmé’s voice, clear and sweet, “because I called to say that I owe you the next few rounds of tea cake.”

He smirked, and didn’t bother asking about the occasion. He’d been present when Master Yoda sent her a confirmation. Given the apparent need for secrecy, he wasn’t sure if he’d hear from her about it. He was glad that he had, though. The whole business had him worried.

“Whole cakes or slices? I’m afraid they’re different currencies.”

She laughed, and he imagined how she must look. In her office, most likely, sprawled unceremoniously in her chair, he pictured her hair done up in elaborately coiled braids, her mouth painted bright like she’d spent the afternoon suckling berries. He could see how the corner of her eyes would crinkle and cheeks would stretch. At least, how they would if she were laughing genuinely. She might not be, given the circumstances, but he hoped anyway. Padmé Amidala had an exceptionally pretty laugh.

“Whichever you want. I’m not going to fight you.” She schooled herself and said more seriously: “Thank you. Really.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, despite the fact she wouldn’t see it. “There’s no need to thank me. Honestly, I hardly did anything.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but enough so that he felt comfortable saying it.

“I don’t believe that,” Padmé said, indulgence bleeding through the line. It made her voice sound honeyed and warm. “I know how long some people are waiting. You fast tracked me by at least six months.”

He hummed, suddenly feeling self conscious of the fact. He was glad Quin was too far away to hear. It was an undeniable display of favoritism, and while none of the others had said so, he couldn't pretend the request hadn't made him seem partial. 

“You’re popular,” he said, deflecting what was meant to be praise. "You read the list of attendees?" He waited for her to hum. "It speaks for itself, then. Depa has never stopped asking about you."

That was also true enough that he didn't feel guilty pinning some of the ease of Padmé's in on it. Depa, Mace, and Yoda along with himself often acted as liaisons to the wider Republic. As a result, they'd developed a rapport with many senators and kept an eye on their careers. The same was true for Padmé, and most especially after her relationship with Anakin went public.

"Hasn't she?" the senator asked, sounding only mildly disbelieving. "Maybe you can give her my comm sometime."

He didn't say what he should have: that he wouldn't, as it was inappropriate. If he did, he'd have to come up with a reason for why _him_ having it wasn't.

"You can offer it yourself,” he said instead, “ if you're feeling brave when the hearing concludes."

The woman gave a throaty groan. "I don't think brave is what I'll be feeling. I've heard how meetings with Master Windu go."

"Only from Anakin's perspective. I assure you, he isn't that frightening."

"We'll see." She sighed, and the sound nearly blew out the line. "Regardless, I'm grateful, and not just for the meeting." She paused, maybe considering if it was wise to say. When she made up her mind, she continued. "Anakin's kept me updated on your talks, and told me you haven't pushed for anything. I want you to know we both appreciate it. I'm sure this is frustrating."

Some part of him, very small and uncharacteristically jealous, felt pinched to hear that his and Anakin's discussions weren't private. He beat it into submission quickly though, because how could he expect them to be? His and Padmé's weren't either. The pair of them were married. If he said something in strictest confidence or asked them not to share, they probably wouldn't. They were both good friends. But, he never had anything to say that warranted such a request. Even if he did, he couldn't think of a reason not to tell them both.

"Not exactly," he said, though it was a little, if not for the reason the woman might think. "My primary concern is your safety. I'd rather be kept in the dark for a while than jeopardize you. I hope you believe that."

"I do." 

The words were so soft and sincere that Obi-Wan was embarrassed. Perhaps he wouldn't have been if he could see her. Face to face, it was easy to focus on things other than her tone. Over comm, however, he was forced to confront her feelings. They could be blistering at times-- not unlike Anakin's, which also alarmed him whenever he allowed himself to dwell. They both doled out affection generously. So generously, in fact, that sometimes he wondered what it meant. 

Nothing most likely, beyond the fact that they trusted and cared for him. The nakedness of it had the tendency to overwhelm him, though. Just then was no exception. He fussed with the mat, hand feeling useless, and once again was grateful that Quin was easily distracted. The other man was still by the fountains, canteen balanced on his hip. Someone had caught his attention and the two were chatting. Quinlan hadn't so much as glanced in Obi-Wan's direction in minutes. Small favors; the other's presence would've made this awkward.

"I have to go," she continued, affectionate tone slumping. "My committee meetings start soon. I just wanted to thank you."

"You're quite welcome, my friend. Will I be hearing from you before your audience?"

"I don't think so. Deadlines are getting tight around here."

"Of course. I wouldn't want to distract you. However, should you find that you need distracting--"

"I have your comm." She finished it for him easily. It was an old, standing offer. "The same goes for you. I'll answer when I can. Otherwise, until the meeting."

After a quick goodbye, the line between them went dead. Padmé was the one who cut it. Obi-Wan's end burst into a shock of static bright enough to make the pair on the next mat jump. He grimaced in apology and shut the device down before tucking it away again. 

When it was safely back in his pocket, he found that he was still alone. Quin had made some progress in returning, but got caught again. This time he was chatting with a woman, and Obi-Wan knew better than to expect that to end quickly.

He laid flat on his back, intending to meditate while he waited, but kept thinking of Padmé.

* * *

Along with Masters Yoda, Windu, and Billaba, Obi-Wan convened for Padmé's hearing in a sitting room typically reserved for minor conferences. Out of respect for tradition, they didn't take her to the Council Chamber. Given how few witnesses she had anyway, that large a space would've been unnecessary.

The room was cozy, for which Obi-Wan was grateful. He didn't want to give the senator another reason to feel uncomfortable. Addressing even a fraction of the Council could be daunting for an outsider. Aware of that, all four made a point to appear casual. With the exception of the Grandmaster who needed a hover chair, they were reclining on a long, plush couch. The chair they'd brought for Padmé was equally lush and pulled in close, meant to make her feel welcome.

Whether it did or didn't was unclear. She was unwaveringly professional and wasted no time in getting to the point.

“There’s been a security breach,” she said, adopting the formal tone she often used when she expected to have to defend herself. It was a little flat and impersonal, but Obi-Wan didn’t fault her reservation. Even without knowing details, he could guess she was in an awkward position. “Several, actually, over the last few months.”

“At your apartment,” Mace Windu guessed.

“No, master. Varykino.”

She took a moment to scan the line of them, not seeming to know who to focus on. The Grandmaster was an obvious choice, but while he was clearly paying attention-- Obi-Wan could feel the cutting edge of his focus in the Force, and beyond that see him nodding considerately-- his eyes were shut. Unable to look at him, the senator took the other three in darting turns. Whenever she lighted on Obi-Wan, he made sure to smile encouragingly.

“Local criminals?” Windu continued. “That’s a wealthy estate.”

“It is, but it’s not the furniture or vases I’m concerned for. That’s not what the people in question have expressed interest in.”

“What is?”

She wet her lip. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

Depa cleared her throat and crossed one knee over the other. “That would be best. Your insistence on secrecy has left us with an incomplete picture.”

The senator’s carefully blank expression cracked a little. “I apologize. It was out of concern for--”

“No need for apology is there. Understand, we do, that some things can only be said in locked rooms.”

Padmé’s attention, along with Obi-Wan’s, flicked to Yoda at that. The Grandmaster still hadn’t opened his eyes. His old face was scrunched in concentration, soft curls of his power spiralling out. The woman wouldn’t notice, but Obi-Wan did. Yoda was _scenting_ something.

“Misgiving, I sense.”

“Not for any of you,” she hurried to add.

Yoda hummed. “Said that, did I?” 

Padmé lowered her eyes, cheeks popping a little with color. If Yoda sensed that, however, he made no mention. 

"What I think he means," Mace waded in, "is that your discomfort has been noted. What we'd like now is to be told the cause."

"Of course." She cleared her throat and shifted in her chair, sitting up straighter. Mindful of her hands, she folded them neatly in her lap. Her attention cut across them again, lingering for a second on Obi-Wan before returning to Master Windu and honing in. "As I said, there’s been a series of security breaches. This-- didn’t start out like that, though. If it had, we might’ve brought it to someone’s attention sooner. Up until recently, however, we were hoping to handle it on our own.”

She paused, perhaps waiting for some sort of prompt. Mace didn’t add anything, but he gave her a curt little nod. It kicked into gear. Sighing, she seemed to steel herself. Obi-Wan tensed, wondering what for, and if he truly wanted to hear it.

“While I was busy with the tail end of the previous senate session, a man started to be seen around Varykino. Not on the island itself, but wandering the opposite shore of the lake-- making a sort of perimeter, the guards now believe.”

“Know this man, did they?” Yoda asked.

“No, and neither did Anakin when the guards brought him to his attention. That wasn’t cause for alarm, though. It’s a popular area for people vacationing, and Varykino isn’t the only nearby estate. We thought maybe he was a relative of one of the other families. That, or an ascetic coming down for a swim from one of the hill shrines.”

The woman took another pause, this time to purse her lips. Her brow scrunched, pinching her face in distress. Her hands wrung a bit in her lap, and watching them made Obi-Wan’s own twitch. He thought briefly-- and stupidly-- of taking them to stop her fidgeting.

“In other words,” Depa said, “not an obvious threat.”

“Not at all. He was actually quite old, and the guards eventually became worried for him. They thought he’d gotten lost, or maybe needed something. After a few days, one boated over to collect him. With Anakin’s permission, they brought him inside, gave him water and food, and tried asking where he was meant to be. And it wasn’t that-- he wasn't _unfriendly_ , apparently, just insistent. Once he had an in, all he was interested in was being allowed to meet Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s attention perked and he allowed himself to ask a question, though he’d promised himself to let the others take point.

“As a master of the house, generally, or as Anakin Skywalker?”

“The latter.” Her frown deepened. “Again, not immediately concerning. Everyone knows it's a family estate, and local HoloNet channels still haven’t let anyone forget the two of us married. I don’t blame them for not being suspicious, but I wish--”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She trailed off, her fidgeting sharpening. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to crack his own knuckles. He glanced aside to his fellow masters, hoping to gauge their reactions. What they thought wasn’t immediately obvious; they seemed to be reserving judgement.

“They took him to Anakin,” she continued. “He wasn’t busy that day, and the two of them talked for a while. The old man knew he’d been a Jedi, and mostly wanted to discuss the Order and how its ethics clashed or aligned with the war. Anakin thought they were odd questions, but came to the same conclusion the guards did-- that the old man was a local monk, and felt some kind of kinship. Which he might still think today, if things had ended there. When the old man left for the day, Anakin didn’t expect to see him again. He did, though. The man came back several more times while I was away, and each time he did, the conversation got more-- bizarre.”

The word didn’t sound as though it was the one she wanted. It fell short of the nerves Obi-Wan could feel coiling in her. Her signature was more deeply bruised than it’d been a few days prior. Anxiety turned it sickly yellow and sore.

“Bizarre,” Mace repeated, leaning forward slightly. He balanced his elbows on his knees, woven hands making a prop for his chin. “In what way?”

“Every way. He kept bringing up the Order, but the way he did it became increasingly unfavorable. He disagrees in several ways philosophically, and congratulated Anakin for distancing himself. He said it was better to be free of the Jedi, both for himself and for the children. That it would be easier to guide them without outside interference.”

A tight, itching discomfort stitched between Obi-Wan’s shoulders. Before he could give voice to his concern, Master Yoda spoke for him.

“Common knowledge, the children are?”

“As common as our marriage is. What _isn’t_ is the fact that we’d allowed them to be tested.”

A chilly sort of silence fell over the room, and the tension in Obi-Wan’s back crept into the others. Looking aside again, he saw Depa and Mace both roll to loosen in. For his own part, Master Yoda sat coiled like a spring. His eyes had cracked open, and paired with his deep breathing gave the impression of someone waking from an unpleasant dream.

“The stranger mentioned this?” Depa asked, no doubt thinking as Obi-Wan was of the day they’d sent a Seeker to Varykino. 

No one but that being and the twin’s parents had been present, and as the family had declined to pledge the children to the Order, that’d been the end of it. The particulars of the sibling’s midi-chlorian counts, as well as the first blooms of abilities the Seeker had recorded were sealed: safe in the minds of their mother and father and recorded in the library. There was no explanation for a stranger having knowledge of it.

“Near the end of his eighth visit.” She drew a sharp breath. “It was going to be the last, anyway. Anakin already didn't like how he was talking. But then he brought up the children, and their Force sensitivity, and potential training--"

"In what capacity?" Mace interrupted, sounding suspicious.

"I'm not sure. The man didn't get time to pitch. Anakin was furious and demanded to know where he'd learned the children were tested. The old man wouldn't say, other than he had sources, and could give us options for their education. Anakin refused, told him to leave, and said that if he came back the guards would throw him in the lake. He apparently went quietly, but as for staying gone…" She sighed, sounding exhausted. "That hasn't gone well."

She unfolded her hands to rub at the taut pull of her hairline. Her braids were a tightly woven latticework, and looking at them made Obi-Wan's headache. Or, maybe the dull throb Padmé leaked into the Force did. 

"Initially, the problem was him haunting the other shore. During the first two weeks of last recess, we'd see him every day. He'd be following the perimeter along the opposite beach, studying something. By the time the guards got over to scare him off, he'd already be gone. Then, he started to be seen with company. Never more than two at a time, but we kept track of faces. He had eight or so friends, and he snuck them all around the guards for another month before changing tactics again."

Obi-Wan stiffened in his seat, having a guess of where this was going. He asked anyway.

"I don't suppose they had anything to do with the security breaches."

Padmé nodded. "They didn't try anything until the week before the senate reconvened. Then, alarms started tripping every other night. Low priority ones at first: the ones at the dock and on the beach. They didn't get any further up than the start of the trees before I had to return. Anakin has kept me updated since, though, and they've only gotten more bold. The most recent pings have come from the security on a few windows."

"Does your guard not have a night watch?" Depa asked.

"Of course they do, and they respond immediately but--" Padmé huffed. "We can't figure out how they're doing it, or what back pathways they're slinking through. Whatever they are, they're well hidden. They disappear as soon as someone catches wind of them. It's-- terrifying," she admitted, "assuming we know what they want."

 _The children_ , she didn't say, and neither did any of the Council, though the possibility hung heavily over their heads. Obi-Wan's stomach felt done up in knots, and he tried not to imagine a pack of child thieves on the shoreline, hands dragging them up like claws to the estate’s veranda.

"Assuming," Mace agreed, voice dutifully neutral. "Have you considered motivations?"

"Enough to make my head spin. Political, some kind of anti-Jedi sentiment, cult activity-- it could come down to anything. We don't know how to catch them, let alone _stop_ them. We're out of options, and we need your help."

She looked between them again, her careful expression abandoned. Her brows were scrunched and her eyes were shining wet. Padmé looked at once exhausted and pulled tight as a bowstring. Obi-Wan worried that one wrong move would snap her in two. She worked through the tension by fussing with her hands in a way he'd never noticed her do before. A new tick, perhaps, or a long abandoned one dragged back into the light by recent events.

It was Master Yoda who broke the silence. "Troubling, this is. A cause for great concern no matter the reason. Deliberate, we must, before a decision is made. Understand, do you?"

"Yes, master," she said, sounding relieved not to have been denied outright.

"The current session concludes in two weeks?" Master Windu asked. When Padmé nodded, he promised, "You'll know before then."

"Thank you. I know you all have much to do, and I'm grateful for the time you've made." 

She hesitated, looking torn between beginning to say goodbyes, allowing the meeting to end at what felt the break, and-- and what, Obi-Wan thought? He felt something else bubbling.

Master Yoda apparently did too. "More to say, you have."

It wasn't a question, and the senator looked momentarily embarrassed by the fact. Her cheeks darkened and she lowered her gaze. "Nothing strictly necessary."

"For the Council to decide, that is. Speak your mind."

She hesitated a moment longer, something spooling out from her that Obi-Wan couldn’t quite identify. He felt its simmer kick up to a brief, sharp boil when her attention passed over him, but it banked when she had her eyes back on Depa. She stared at the other woman for a moment, looking for something that she must’ve found in Master Billaba’s faint smile. She drew whatever she needed from it before returning her attention to Yoda and making the last of her case.

“If the Order were to intervene, and I understand you need time, we _have_ given thought to who would be the best fit.”

“Have you?” Mace said, though he didn’t sound any more surprised by that than Obi-Wan felt. 

As a previous Order member, Anakin had experience with dozens of Jedi. He knew their records, talents, and under what conditions they worked best. He knew who he got along with, who he didn’t, and who he most trusted. It wasn’t shocking to hear that he’d given Padmé a specific request. Whether or not the request could be filled was, of course, another matter. Many Jedi were stuck at the front or far flung outposts, and a good number of those currently available were meant to deploy soon. Even if neither of those were the case, there were temple obligations to consider. Many taught classes, led retreats, or worked in the library or crѐche. Those obligations were more flexible, but still undeniably a factor. For Anakin and Padmé to get who they wanted, they’d have to be lucky.

“Yes,” she continued. “Again, approval pending, and whether or not he would even agree-- given our joint histories, his talents, and how well he and Anakin work together, we’d prefer to be assigned Master Kenobi.”

She did what appeared to be her level best not to glance at him, which Obi-Wan thought was just as well. There were a few seconds between the words registering and him schooling his expression in which he felt himself blink stupidly, taken aback by a request that-- well, perhaps shouldn’t have been surprising. It was though, if for no other reason than the entire meeting had him on edge. He didn’t like anything he was hearing or what it implied about her family’s safety, and felt as though he’d been trying to balance on his toes for the last hour.

Thankfully, none of the other masters looked at him either. Whatever immediate shock they sensed, they opted to ignore. Keeping their attention politely on Padmé they each nodded, solemnly considering. After a moment, Master Yoda spoke for them all.

“Meditate on this will we, and discuss. Know soon you will what is decided.”

“Until then,” Depa said, “we suggest you go about your life normally. If something changes drastically, then of course make it known. Barring that, expect to hear from us when a decision has been reached.”

“Of course. Thank you again.”

Knowing well enough when she was being dismissed, Padmé got out of her chair and fixed her dress. She tugged out the wrinkles and reset the pleats, smoothing out the body of her skirt before giving a practiced half bow. When she straightened, she said goodbye, attention skating over them so quickly that Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if she’d actually looked at him. 

He thought she might’ve, because he felt the mildest embarrassment bleed through the Force before she excused herself, leaving them to deliberate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan: pining is actually something that can be so oblivious


	3. Massassi-blossom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, y'all! Hope the last few weeks have been good, and that everyone enjoys the update :)

The meeting ultimately ended without a decision being reached, which wasn't unusual. Yoda generally advised meditation before a vote was officially cast. For that, they all needed time alone to think.

After agreeing to meet again at the start of the upcoming week, the four masters bowed to each other and parted ways. Well, most of them did. Mace caught Obi-Wan's elbow before he could get too far, and when the man suggested they have dinner together, Obi-Wan didn't refuse.

The pair made their way to the nearest refectory in silence. Not an unpleasant sort, but a thoughtful one. Mace had always been a friend, and Obi-Wan valued his insight. Whatever the other eventually planned to say, he was happy to hear it. 

Not wanting any distractions, he used the length of the walk to contact Ahsoka and bid her an early goodnight. He told her that they'd meet in the morning for training at the dojo, and that he expected her to be on time. Only out of habit, of course. _She_ wasn't the Padawan he'd constantly had to worry about being late. Whatever bad habits Anakin had passed onto her over the years, the younger man at least hadn’t made her tardy.

As he was preparing to stuff the device back into his pocket, it buzzed, registering an incoming missive. He debated ignoring it until after dinner, but— no. He felt a faint tug and opted to read it over. When he saw who it was from, he was glad that he had. Padmé’s frequency scrolled across the screen, and the message beneath made him feel like he’d been pinched.

_Are you upset with me?_

He frowned at the words. No, of course he wasn’t, and he couldn’t imagine why the woman would think so. The news had been unpleasant and he’d have preferred a warning, but understood why he hadn’t gotten one. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t Anakin’s either, and he didn’t blame either one for needing to be discreet. He wished he’d had time to tell her so, but there’d been a discussion to attend to. Even if there hadn’t been, how prickly her signature had gone made him doubt she’d have lingered.

“Is everything alright?” Mace asked.

When Obi-Wan looked aside, he found the man glancing at him curiously. His attention darted to the comm, but he didn’t attempt to read.

“Yes,” he said. “Pardon, just tying up loose ends.”

Master Windu accepted that and went back to his own thoughts. He took the lead, staying a few paces ahead for the rest of the walk. Presumably, that was to give the other privacy. It was polite; Obi-Wan appreciated it, and typed out his response quickly to repay it.

 _ **I haven’t been upset with you once in my life.**_ He considered leaving it there, but just to be sure: _**You did well, now please leave things to me. I’ll do whatever I can for you.**_

He resisted the urge to promise her something more specific. It was likely the Council would honor her request. He wasn’t busy, and she’d had a good reason to ask for him, but he didn’t want to get her hopes up unnecessarily. Nothing was official, and she and Anakin had suffered enough. He didn’t want to risk adding to their distress.

After making sure the message went through, he powered down and stowed his com away. Quickening his pace, he caught up to Master Windu in time for the pair of them to reach the refectory. It was bustling when they arrived, the doors propped open to accommodate traffic and nearly every table packed full. Extra chairs had been dragged up to a few of them, and the clatter was overwhelming. Obi-Wan hadn’t seen so many beings in the temple since before his last deployment.

“We may have trouble finding a seat,” he said, scanning the room in the hopes of finding some corner unoccupied.

“We’ll manage.” Mace took his elbow again, guiding him through a throng. “Most of these people look like they’ll be leaving soon.”

That turned out to be true. By the time they’d gone through the line, a nearby table had thinned enough for them to take a seat. The opposite end was still packed, but the nearest being was several seats away. It wasn’t much privacy, but better than Obi-wan had initially expected.

Not that they needed it immediately. Whether it’d been his plan all along or whether he changed his mind after seeing the crowd, the other man tucked in, not bothering to talk for almost thirty minutes. For a while it seemed as though he really had only wanted to get dinner. 

Obi-Wan was content to let that play out. Mace made pleasant company even when he was more interested in rice than speaking. He had a fatherly presence that Obi-Wan never failed to find comfort in. It was a shame that he and Anakin had never gotten along.

"What are you thinking?" the other asked when both their plates were clean.

By then, the hall around them had emptied. Their table was abandoned all but for themselves and a pair of women. Outside of them, the closest being was four tables away.

"About what the senator said?"

It was a bit of a silly question, but Mace indulged it with a nod anyway. Obi-Wan took a long pull from his water before responding.

"I think she worries a little more than she lets on."

The other frowned. "I was thinking the same." He snatched up his own glass, his large hand looking as though it could crush it. He sipped more carefully than Obi-Wan had and licked his mouth dry when he was finished. "I have a feeling this stranger wasn't as vague as they say."

Obi-Wan had a feeling too, and it was working his gut to knots. He doubted that someone who'd been so bold as to admit that they had classified information as well as a line of contact with a Force cult would be any more delicate when making demands. Padmé said she and Anakin _assumed_ what these people wanted. Obi-Wan thought, perhaps, she was softening the blow. He thought that, perhaps, it'd been made explicitly clear, and she was only frightened about being spied on and punished for saying too much.

"She's obviously terrified," Obi-Wan said, prepared to excuse her.

"And I'm not unsympathetic." Mace firmed his lips, expression souring at nothing in particular. "We don't often get to go in with a full picture, but I always hope to be given one anyway."

"I believe that she said as much as she could."

"Unfortunately, I'm inclined to agree." He took another sip and swilled the water around. "I've never heard of a group like this on Naboo."

"Nor have I. Newly formed, maybe."

"Or not really local."

Obi-Wan nodded. That was possible. The galaxy was littered with localised Force cults. Their temples and philosophies were as numerous as stars. Usually, they presented no problem, but there were always exceptions. 

"Involuntary recruitment isn't typically an isolated incident."

Mace's frown deepened. "No, it’s not. This may not be their first attempt. They might have had… practice." The word sounded curdled. "It'd explain their frontman's confidence, and how easy it's been for them to go unnoticed."

Before he could stop himself, Obi-Wan imagined Anakin and Padmé's predicament playing out in another family. One with fewer connections who couldn't reach out to the Jedi. The thought of how helpless and frightened they'd be made nearly made him sick.

"If that is the case, then how are they doing it? And how do they know who to target? It can't be simple."

Mace considered it for a moment. "They're either very observant, or someone is saying something that they shouldn't."

The implication hung over the table at a dangerous angle. Before Obi-Wan could ask if Mace really thought there could be a leak, a Padawan on kitchen duty came to collect their trays. They both smiled at the girl, breaking hard in the conversation, and didn't say anything again until she was gone. Even then they pitched their voices down, aware of all the chores taking places around them. The refectory was closing soon, and privacy was shrinking in again.

"Just a thought," Mace said, voice rolling like smoke, "but it's something to consider. For you, especially." He eyed Obi-Wan seriously. "Are you going to accept the assignment?"

"Will you object if I do?"

The other man shook his head. "I don't think the others will either, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't think it through carefully."

Obi-Wan made to say that he thought through everything carefully, but the other held up a hand for silence.

"You're their friend," he continued, "and that's fine. Maybe they need that, but you need to be sure that you can keep your head on straight. If your judgement becomes clouded, you risk missing something important. That kind of mistake could be fatal. Do you understand?"

The man looked at him squarely, all his attention cutting in, and Obi-Wan felt like a misbehaving Padawan. He did understand, though, and didn't fault him for bringing it up. It was a valid concern, and one he would've raised if their roles were reversed. 

"I am their friend," he agreed, because there wasn't a point to denying it, “but that isn't the only reason they want me. Anakin knows what I’m capable of, that I can make these separations. They trust me as a Jedi, and because of that believe I won't fail them." 

Mace nodded, though the edge of his focus didn’t dull. That was fine. Obi-Wan hadn’t expected it to. 

“I’d be mindful, of course. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize the children.” Obi-Wan drained the last of his cup and set it aside. “Or, for that matter, our chance to unravel the mystery.”

The safety of Anakin’s family was the most immediate concern, but the identity of the group was a close second. It was possible, after all, that they had multiple targets. Fumbling now could mean allowing harm to come to an unknown number of others.

"Just think it through," Mace said after finishing his own drink. "I'll feel better knowing you did."

Obi-Wan didn't think it an unreasonable request. "You have my word."

Mace accepted that and turned the conversation aside.

As promised, Obi-Wan meditated on the matter. He took both Yoda and Mace's advice to heart. It didn't change his mind, however, and when they reconvened to make their decision he requested to be assigned as Padmé had asked.

As _he'd_ promised, Master Windu didn't raise an objection, and neither did Billaba or Yoda. They considered, quiet for so long that it made Obi-Wan's palms itch, but in the end neither offered an alternative. They suggested, rather transparently, that Obi-Wan be in frequent contact, though that might've been what they suggested regardless. None of them really knew what he was walking into. For the safety of all involved, it'd be best to touch base regularly.

Beyond that, he wasn't given any particular instructions. As the chosen, preparations were his responsibility. He set about making them as soon as it was official, contacting Commander Cody as he left the Council chamber. When the man answered, he sounded as though he'd been woken up.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Obi-Wan said, feeling guilty and considering disconnecting to try again later.

"No, sir," Cody grunted, the word coming thick from sleep. "Just catching a little rest before training. Should be getting up anyway."

In the background, he heard the creak of narrow bunk. He pictured Cody throwing his legs over the edge.

"Well, I won't keep you long. I only called to say we have work coming up."

"Deploying again?"

"Not exactly, and not the entire legion. If I send you a shortlist of details, how soon could you draft a team?"

The commander hummed. "Depends."

"On?"

"When you’re going to need it drafted by, sir."

Obi-Wan smiled, grateful for Cody's dedication. He was an excellent second in command and Obi-Wan trusted him. He knew the legion inside and out— it's member's strengths, needs, and weaknesses. No one was better suited to putting a task force together.

"Not today. I shouldn't like to rush you unnecessarily. If I could have it within two or three, I'd be satisfied."

"Shouldn't be a problem. How many are we talking?"

"Five should do. Where we're going there's already— well. You'll see in the brief."

'Brief' was a generous word for what Obi-Wan planned to send. In truth, it was nothing more than a hasty mark-up: an outline of what Padmé had said and what the Council guessed, as well as information on Varykino he thought was relevant. It wasn't a complete picture, and as a result any team his commander made would be imperfect. It wouldn't be Cody's fault, though. He could only work with what he was given, and Obi-Wan was prepared to make due.

When he ended his call with Cody, he took a moment to send the file over, wanting to give the man as much time to review as possible. When that was finished, he checked the time and, realizing she'd still be in the rotunda, opted to send Padmé the news by missive. She could read it at her leisure and call when she had a moment. He didn't want to wait until then to give her the news, though. She'd likely been worrying for days, and he had no desire to prolong her anxiety. The thought of her fidgeting holes into the hems of her sleeves made his chest ache.

That handled, he pocketed his comm and made his way to the room Ahsoka's class had taken to meeting in. It'd be over in half an hour, and when she came out he wanted to be waiting. They had things to discuss, or at least he to finally share. Settled back in as she was, if he missed her then he likely wouldn't see her again until the next morning. 

He didn't want to wait any longer to fill her in on the assignment. It was better to break the news early and give her time to prepare.

* * *

Padmé didn't like to check messages in the rotunda. She could, of course. Her repulsorpod was private. Glancing down at her comm or datapad wouldn't disturb anyone. It was a distraction, though, and she couldn't afford those so late in the session. 

She owed everyone making last minute proposals her attention. Stars knew she'd asked for enough of it herself. Deadlines were closing, tensions ran high, and it still felt as though nothing was getting accomplished.

She was trying not to let herself get discouraged or lose focus, but it was difficult, and not just because her frustration was mounting. Her mind kept wandering back to her meeting with the Council. She hadn't been sure when she'd left it what she'd get, but had to stay positive. If she didn't, her composure would crack.

That wouldn't help anyone, and least of all her and Anakin. Obi-Wan didn't need to see it either. He was doing what he could, and she had to trust in his ability to get them what they needed. He'd never failed before, and it was silly to start worrying that he would now.

Padmé _was_ worried, though, in a latent sort of way that was, admittedly, getting in the way of work. With the senate closing soon, it was hard to focus on anything but the situation ratcheting up at home. 

It was also getting difficult not to fiddle with her comm. The Council hadn't given her a hard date to expect news on, which she understood. Really. They needed time to think. She wished she had some idea, though. Her heart tripped every time the device chirped.

That day was no exception. There were three hours left, at best, until they'd be excused from the rotunda. It was a bad time to get a message, and she couldn't respond even if she read it. When she felt her comm vibrate, though, she couldn't resist. It was rude, and later she'd chide herself for slipping it out while her colleague was speaking.

Seeing it was from Obi-Wan though, she knew it’d be hours before she felt even remotely guilty.

 _ **If you were serious about the cake**_ , it began, and it took her a second to realize what he was talking about, _**I've thought of the perfect time to share it. The Council approved a leave request for me. If it isn't an imposition, I thought I’d bring Ahsoka to Varykino.**_

She read it over a few times, and at the end of each pass felt as though weeks of tension were sloughing off. Only years of practice kept her from slumping in relief. It was good news. Wonderful news, actually. He'd done what he'd said. Not that it'd been in serious doubt. Obi-Wan always did what he could, but she'd been worried the Council would think him too close to be effective. Their friendship wasn't a secret, and his and Anakin's had never faded. 

She was grateful that hadn't worked against them. They needed all the friends they could get.

Around her, the rotunda burst with a sudden commotion. She jumped at the clatter of voices all screeching over each other's audio feeds. Her attention whipped as she tried to figure out what it was she’d missed. Not the vote, apparently— thank the Force. It was just another argument. 

The senator in the middle of it had been proposing a solution to a spike in piracy in the Alui sector. The thefts were targeting paramilitary vessels— civilians under contract or just rising to meet the need of the nearest legion. They didn't have much means to protect themselves, a fact that was getting costly. He was suggesting, among other things, providing arms to them. That’d never been a popular idea, and anger over it was likely what had triggered the outcry. 

"Senators, please," Palpatine called, his voice made even more reedy by the mic. "Conduct yourselves professionally."

When Padmé looked to him, she saw fingers digging into his temple. He was frowning, which in a meeting was usually expressive. She felt bad, and made a note to have her husband reach out. The two were still friends, and while the Chancellor wouldn't share his frustrations with her— it wouldn't be appropriate— he might be persuaded to confide in Anakin.

The rotunda quieted, but it took a bang from the butt of Mas Amedda’s staff to shush it entirely. When silence fell, the Chancellor called for a vote and everyone turned their attention to their screens. After a quick reread of the speech's transcript, Padmé voted in favor of the motion. Too many others didn't. The senator proposing it deflated when the announcement was made and floated back to his dock, looking dejected.

Padmé felt a pang of sympathy. She knew how awful it felt to be shot down. Once he was docked, she tried catching his eye to offer a smile. It didn't work. He kept his attention firmly on his own screen, determined to bury disappointment in work.

She understood that too, and privately wished him an easy end to what had been a divisive session. She wished it for all of them— herself, her friends, and Chancellor Palpatine.

More than that, though, she now wished the day would wrap up quickly.

It didn't, unfortunately. Official proceedings ran long, and afterwards she had a slew of committee meetings. She took lifts to and from a dozen different floors and drained cup after cup of tea that personal droids offered her. She approved and shot down ideas for last minute proposals and signed huge stacks of flimsi. By the time she returned to her apartment, she was sure Obi-Wan was asleep.

That didn't stop her from trying to call back. Once locked in her room, she powered her holopuck up and sent a vid request to his, hoping for an answer. Even if she didn't get one, she'd at least be able to leave a good message. She'd been thinking about what she wanted to say all day, and at times got so distracted she missed what someone said. It wasn't professional, but thankfully no one got sore over it. This late in the session, no one's mind was totally online anyway.

Throat tight with excitement, she used the time it took for a connection to establish to start settling in. While her puck chimed through its search, she adjusted the lights, toed out of her shoes, and folded the cloak that'd kept her bare shoulders safe from the chill. She was halfway through taking down her braids when the call was answered. Her puck spat up a wavy screen of light, and in it resolved an image of Obi-Wan's back. He was facing her bed, though if he was surprised to find it empty it didn't immediately show.

"Another late night?" he asked, sounding distracted himself. "I hope you aren't neglecting your husband. He gets moody when he's ignored."

Padmé laughed and finished twisting her braids out. "I'm sure you know all about it."

He didn't turn in the direction of her voice, which was fine. She didn't stay there. As soon as her hair was loose she rounded the stand her puck was resting on to take a seat on the edge of her bed. When she did, she found Obi-Wan concentrating on something in his lap. One ankle was crossed over his thigh, the rise of his knee blocking whatever it was. She could see his hands moving. One was, anyway. The other was stabilizing something, but before she could ask what, he carried on.

"I take it you got my message."

He didn't look up, but Padmé didn't mind. His brow was furrowed handsomely and his tongue peaked out. He was invested in what he was doing, and she wasn't opposed to talking through it. He'd done the same for her a thousand times.

"I did." Reaching back, she struggled through loosening the laces of her bodice. The angle was awkward, but she didn't call for help. She wanted them to have privacy. "I'm sorry I couldn't respond sooner."

He shrugged, motion rumbling his tunic and knocking loose a lock of hair he never could manage to tame. It fell to tickle his forehead and she felt a surge of fondness. She thought about tucking Anakin's curls behind his ears, and wondered if Obi-Wan would let her do the same.

"It wasn't urgent." He tugged sharply at what he was working on. "Have you had time to think it over? It's been far too long since Ahsoka and I visited. We'd be grateful for the hosting, though of course I understand if this is coming too late."

Later, when they were all at Varykino and their cover was blown anyway, she'd thank Obi-Wan for being discreet for as long as he could. She still didn't fully trust her lines, and having him provide his own cover was easier than trying to feed him one without being obvious.

"I think we can manage," she said, and her smile must've been audible because his attention finally flitted up. He met her gaze, wearing a grin just wide enough to show to the edges of his teeth. "Anakin would kill me if I said no, anyway."

His laugh crackled the line and he went back to his project. The motion he made was familiar. It made her think of her grandmother. She couldn't have said why, but the realization came clear and sudden. 

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Hm?" He gave another tug before realizing what she was asking. "Oh. Embarrassing myself, almost certainly. I realize that I haven’t seen the children in person before now and—" He took a pause and tugged again. "Well, I thought that perhaps I should bring something."

"What, like a gift?"

The man nodded, that pesky lock of hair bobbing along with the motion. "It might make them more inclined to like me."

Padmé smiled softly, despite the fact that he was too distracted to see it. "They already like you. I think they just think you live inside a holopuck."

Despite never being able to make the trip— the war kept him busy, and when it didn’t he had other duties— Obi-Wan was diligent about checking in on the children. Over the years, he must’ve seen them a hundred times. He commed on their birthday or whenever he was thinking of them, which, according to Anakin, was often. The older man loved children. Anakin had told her all about how he volunteered in the crѐche.

“All the more reason then,” he muttered, mouth firming determinedly. Whatever was in his hands seemed to be fighting back. “I’m sure it’ll be a shock for the poor things to see me out of it. Anything I can do to smooth the transition should work in my favor.”

She leaned back, resting her weight on her palms. The bed gave pleasantly and she thought about lying down. It’d been a long day, and tomorrow promised to be even longer. She shouldn’t talk long, but it was hard to want to end the call. Even without speaking much, Obi-Wan managed to comfort her. Just knowing he was listening soothed some of her aches. The last few months had largely been miserable, for reasons she either couldn’t or wouldn’t trouble him with yet, and it felt good to be able to look up and see him. It made things seem less complicated, and that was especially true when he looked as at ease as he did then. Slouched in his chair, soft clothes and hair ruffled, tongue caught between his lips: he was a picture of coziness. It made her wish she was in the room with him.

“I hate to be short,” she sighed, forcing herself to be responsible, “but I need to go. I have an early morning.”

He looked up again, smile flagging. “I wish you didn’t, but I suppose the recess will come soon enough.”

Not quite soon enough in her opinion, but she didn’t say that. It was on the horizon at least, which was better than nothing.

“I’ll have our departure plans forwarded to you. I don’t know what you’re thinking as far as transport, but you’re welcome to fly with me if you like.”

Obi-Wan considered, or maybe just pretended to. “That would be fine, assuming your staff won’t be inconvenienced.”

She waved that off. “My ship has enough room for double the usual capacity. I’m sure none of them will mind.”

The only one who might was Captain Typho, and only him because he’d likely have to give a security debrief. Though Obi-Wan hadn’t said as much, Padmé suspected that more than he and Ahsoka would be coming to Varykino. If he’d been cleared for the assignment, she expected him to bring a handful of his best for support. In the interest of maintaining his cover he wouldn’t say so, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he arrived at the landing pad with an entourage. 

If he did, those men would need to be brought up to speed on her and Anakin’s guard protocol. Coming in with some understanding of how things operated would help get things moving. Obi-Wan, of course, could wait to discuss things with Anakin.

“We’ll plan on it, then.” He looked back to his work. “I’m sure Ahsoka would prefer it, in any case. She hasn’t had a chance to see you since we returned. If you don’t mind entertaining her?”

Padmé’s smile curved fondly. “Not at all. She isn’t that hard to entertain.”

* * *

“You should’ve let me finish these, master,” Ahsoka said a week later as the two made their way to the designated landing pad. She was strapped into the seat next to Obi-Wan, fussing with their bags while the older man navigated them through early morning traffic. “I’ve got tighter stitches.”

“Do you?” He didn’t bother to keep the disbelief out of his voice. “I’d never have guessed by the state of your robe.”

He didn’t have to glance aside to know she was rolling her eyes. She made a soft scoffing sound that made it clear. “My robe is just going to tear more anyway, and I’m the only one who has to wear it. These are gifts. Aren’t you worried they’ll unravel?”

Ahead, a clot in traffic brought the entire skylane to a halt. Obi-Wan stalled and diverted power to the repulsors, making sure they didn’t lose altitude while they waited for things to clear. With nothing better to do, he finally turned toward his Padawan. The Togruta was folded oddly in her seat, all knees and elbows, with his bag open in her lap and hers on the floor. She was combing through them both, not looking closely enough to be considered snooping, but ensuring that nothing had been left behind.

It was, truthfully, a little late to go back if it had been. They’d already been stuck in traffic for thirty minutes. Too many more delays threatened to make them late, and he didn’t think they could risk turning around now.

At some point, she’d gotten distracted from her task. He wasn’t sure if it was when her droid, which she’d insisted on bringing along, started up without prompting and gotten the strap of her bag stuck in a wheel belt, or if it’d actually been when she’d found the gifts for the twins.

Those were in her hands, cradled carefully despite the critical look she was giving them. A look that Obi-Wan thought was a little unfair. They were just cloth dolls, and not the worst he’d ever made. Anakin’s held that record. It’d been his first attempt, and over the years he’d gotten a little better.

“I don’t think they’re all that bad,” he said, watching her nose scrunch as she jabbed at a few puckered stitches along one foot. 

Well, alright, he thought: some of the edges were unpolished. That added charm, though. At least, in his mind it did.

“I didn’t say they were bad.” Her hesitant tone didn’t fill him with confidence. “But I’ve seen the same holos you have. They play rough.” She dragged a finger up the body of the one he’d made hair out of yarn for, poking at where it met an overstuffed arm. The stitches there were loose. It didn’t stand up as stiffly as the other. “Leia will rip this off in three days, tops.”

He sighed, disappointed that the Togruta hadn’t even stopped to trace the outlines of the hearts he’d stitched. He’d taken the longest time on those. Both of the dolls had one on their chest. If his Padawan was moved by the design, however, it wasn’t obvious.

“If she does,” he said, returning his attention to the lane in time to see the speeders ahead start to move, “you have my permission to reattach it.”

“What if she loses it first?”

“We’ll make a new one and say it’s a prosthetic.”

“That’s a little grim,” Ahsoka muttered, but before Obi-Wan could remind her that the children saw at least one prosthetic a day, she tucked the dolls away, giving both a pat before closing the bag. “They’ll probably like them anyway, though. They aren’t so bad.” She paused briefly before adding: “The hearts turned out nice.”

“You think so? Well, now I feel a little bit badly for not having one for you. Perhaps we can convince Anakin to hand his down.”

If the man even still had it. Obi-Wan would be surprised if he did. It’d nearly been rags by the time Ahsoka joined them at fourteen.

“A hand-me-down? Really? I can’t even get my own?” She huffed theatrically. “Now I really know who’s your favorite.”

She was joking, but he still felt the need to reassure her. Keeping his eyes on the lane, he reached across the cab and caught the hang of her silka beads. He gave them a few affectionate tugs, and she bristled like any older Padawan would, feeling far too grown for the childish gesture. She didn’t pull away, though, which was better than Anakin had done the few times Obi-Wan had tried it on him at the same age. She swatted at his hand, muttering that he didn’t have to _baby_ her, but he didn’t miss the fondness in her tone.

They made the rest of the journey in silence. Ahsoka went back to checking their inventory, and when she was done tied off both bags and tucked them away. She spent the last of the ride tuning a few controls on her mouse droid, and Obi-Wan focused on getting them through the tightening traffic. Leaving right after breakfast hadn’t given him the advantage he’d hoped for. While air over the temple had still been quiet, the moment they reached the Senate District things gummed up and hadn’t gotten better. It might’ve been better to be too early and have left before dawn.

By the time they reached the landing pad, the morning light had lost its softness. They weren’t terribly late; Padmé’s ship was still being loaded. They were the last to arrive, though. Even Cody’s squad had beaten them, and the five of them were helping finish packing. As he guided the speeder down to rest on the edge of the pad, Obi-Wan could see troopers and handmaidens navigating around each other. They bustled in and out of the ship, hopping off the ramp early clear paths for one another, all while Captain Typho and a few guards shared something with Cody. 

That group, which included Senator Amidala— wearing what Obi-Wan guessed was a riding dress only because he’d seen her more extravagant ones— were at the vessel’s aft, making a circle by a landing strut as they passed around what looked like a datapad. None of them noticed the speeder putting down, which wasn’t surprising. The area was noisy. Coruscant’s traffic screamed around them and the ship’s idling engine rumbled deeply. He was a little amazed they could hear each other speak.

They made their presence known quickly enough. The speeder had barely powered down before Ahsoka lept out of it. Slinging both bags over her shoulders and scooping up her droid, she dashed across the landing pad, calling Cody and Padmé’s names as she went. Both the commander and senator’s attention cut up at the sound, and when they saw her approaching they offered identical smiles. They leeched genuine warmth at the sight of her into the Force, and whatever else was coming, Obi-Wan promised himself he’d remember that.

“I apologize for the delay,” he said when caught up to his Padawan and joined her at the outskirts of the group. “Traffic was worse than expected.”

“It’s fine,” the senator assured. “We had a late start, too, and Naboo isn’t going anywhere.” She offered a wink, and Obi-Wan’s chest warmed straight through. “If Anakin’s annoyed, though, you’re taking the fall.”

“Is that meant to frighten me?” He returned with a wink of his own. “Perhaps I should remind you that I have experience with his moods. He isn’t difficult to calm down if one knows where to press.”

Padmé’s tongue came to cut the edge of one tooth. Her eyes narrowed playfully, and he could feel her gearing up to tease. Before she could, however, Captain Typho cleared his throat.

“Since we’re all here— General, Commander, happy to see you.” He nodded to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka in turn. “I think it’s best we get going. We shouldn’t delay any more than we have to. We’re docking in Theed, and if we time our arrival wrong we’ll have to overland travel through the night.”

“Of course,” Padmé said, deferring to her guard. Her attention swept across the group before she gestured to the boarding ramp. “If you don’t mind then, gentleman— _Commander_.” 

The title was so warm that Ahsoka bounced on her heels to hear it, grinning as though all she wanted was to crush the other woman against her chest. Obi-Wan was surprised she hadn’t yet, actually, and thought her restraint was commendable, though he doubted it’d last once the three of them were alone on the ship.

Not wasting any more time, the group boarded with the rest, picking up the last of the bags along the way. Once all the luggage was stowed, the staff and crew reported to their stations. One of the guard’s went to join the pilot in the cockpit while the rest split off to gather in one of the ship’s private rooms. They took troopers along, presumably for a debrief, and Obi-Wan would’ve gone with them if Padmé hadn’t stopped him.

“Later,” she said, hand latching onto his elbow. “It’s nothing Anakin can’t tell you himself.”

Even if he’d wanted to argue, it would’ve been difficult. The woman’s touch was terribly persuasive and warm.

Allowing himself and Ahsoka to be guided, Obi-Wan found himself in a sitting room off the ship’s small galley. Padmé told them to take a seat, and after excusing her handmaidens went into the kitchen herself to brew them all tea. 

For his own part, Obi-Wan did as he was told. It was the senator’s ship, after all. Ahsoka, however, trailed after her to the stove, and presumably didn’t stop talking until they returned. Over the sound of water whooshing to a boil, then the scream of steam, he could hear two high, sweet voices threading over each other. The pair’s excitement flowed outward, flooding the sitting room with a summery glow, and though he couldn’t quite understand them Obi-Wan leaned into it.

When they returned carrying mugs, they both took the same side of the booth. They sat close, arms pressed together, leaving him with a seat to himself. Taking advantage of it, he pulled his legs up and crossed them comfortably. He nestled the cup he was offered between his thighs, letting the steam warm his core while Padmé made conversation. 

As the ship lifted off and cut toward atmo, she detailed the term’s last, turbulent week. She stopped often to let them ask questions, either about what she was saying or some bill still in limbo, or complain about a colleague, though she didn’t name names. When she’d eaten up as much time as she could with senatorial gossip, she shifted gears to ask about the class Ahsoka had been taking. The woman apologized for dragging her away from it, and though most of what Ahsoka said meant nothing to her, she nodded thoughtfully as the history of saber forms were explained.

It was, all in all, a very pleasant flight. Hyperspace put them no more than a few hours from Naboo. It wasn’t long— perhaps not even long enough for his men to be debriefed. He imagined the conversation in _that_ room was rushed. His and Ahsoka’s with Padmé, though, came and flowed so easily that he could almost forget they were on assignment.

That was probably intentional. Once they were at Varykino, there’d be no point in keeping up the charade. There was a hole in security somewhere and they’d be figured out instantly. Until then, though, they could pretend this was a social call.

Obi-Wan didn’t mind pretending. It felt nice to for a while. It allowed him to indulge more deeply in a well-worn fantasy. Over the years since Anakin had left, he’d thought about travelling to see him a hundred times. He never had though, and the reason always seemed to change. He had obligations to his men, or to Ahsoka, or other Jedi, or he imagined that Anakin was busy and didn’t want to be bothered. That last was a nagging worry that he felt even then. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder if Anakin would want him coming if the children weren’t in danger.

He shook the thought. It was ridiculous. Anakin was his friend, regardless of how their relationship had changed. The other had a family and things he liked doing that didn’t involve him, but that was fine. It was natural. Good, even. He’d always hoped that Anakin would become more independent, and while this wasn’t how he’d pictured it playing out, he knew he should be glad for it. And he was, truly; deeply. His friend had made his own path, and Obi-Wan was fortunate that his own was running parallel to it. 

So, theirs hadn’t crossed physically in some time. That didn’t matter, though it sometimes stinged. What mattered was that Anakin and Padmé kept up with him when they hadn’t needed to, and that when they couldn’t trust anyone else they’d come to him.

Not for the first time over the last couple of weeks, the thought of that was nearly overwhelming. He swallowed around a lump in his throat: a strange knot of feelings he couldn’t pick apart. Willing himself to forget them instead, he checked back into the conversation Padmé and Ahsoka were having, trying to catch up without making it obvious his mind had been wandering.

“He’s actually gotten better,” the senator said around a laugh, “which— don’t tell him I said this— I didn’t expect. He was just so clumsy at first. He kept getting his raft flipped over.”

“He did _not_ ,” Ahsoka laughed just as loudly, sounding both thrilled and scandalized. 

“He did. Find a way to ask him about it. He’ll get so flustered.”

Obi-Wan had no idea what they were talking about, but the idea of Anakin toppled off a raft and sputtering in the lake, red as a millaflower was amusing anyway. Taking up his mug, he laughed along, centering himself in the moment.


	4. Bantha Chai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Hope everyone had a good Chanukah and Christmas :) Back with another chapter, which I hope y'all enjoy. I pumped the breaks a little because I wanted to focus on the arrival and kind of set a tone for the upcoming events. Can't wait to see what y'all think!

Arriving at Varykino was a quiet affair. After a pleasant ride out from the bustle of Theed, their party of gondola speeders was able to cross the lake quickly and dock in a boathouse at the end of a long pier. There they were met by a portion of the Island Guard, who helped unload after a round of introductions. Together with them, Obi-Wan’s men, Padme’s staff, himself and Ahsoka shouldered their bags and waddled their weight up the docks.

It was a beautiful day; more so than they could’ve hoped for. So often this late in summer, Naboo got rain. The planet’s storms were heavy and could easily last for days, and it could’ve only been luck that they arrived between them. The sky was so clear and blue that it was difficult to tell where on the horizon it met the lake, and the light of late afternoon had slanted perfectly golden. It cast the surrounding hills in a sugary glow.

As they went, all of them mindful of how they stepped, Obi-Wan caught Ahsoka staring out in the empty distance.

“Do you think anyone ever comes out here?” 

She was asking him, not Padmé, a fact that he was glad for. He wasn’t sure how much the senator would want to be reminded of their isolation. He doubted it was as comforting now as it once had been.

“I saw another estate in the other direction before the last bend. Two or three miles from there, I’d say, and five from here. It likely receives visitors, and the senator says people day trip from the city.” He adjusted his hold on his bag. “I’m sure it’s quiet, but traffic won’t be unheard of.”

His Padawan hummed, and he didn’t miss the tactical edge to her sweep. Her attention darted from the edge of the woods on the opposite shore, across to a spec of island far left of the pier, then to the thick trees that rose like a crown over the back of the estate.

“That might make it hard to figure out who shouldn’t be here.”

Obi-Wan agreed. He’d had the same thought earlier. While total isolation wasn’t ideal for a number of reasons, it at least eliminated the guesswork when a stranger was spotted.

“We’ll manage. I’m sure Anakin will be able to say who the regulars are.”

Ahsoka perked at the name, her interest in the island waning as she tried and failed to school a smile. Obi-wan felt one of his own start to stretch at the sight of it. She was pillowing out a soft excitement, and he was happy for her.

Things had been difficult for her since Anakin’s departure. She’d concealed the fact well since the earliest days, but he knew her well enough to know she missed her old master. It’d colored almost every decision she made. Her training was progressing more slowly than before— not worryingly so, but the shift was obvious. Even a few other masters had brought it up. She was stifling her own advancement, seemingly afraid to leave him or herself alone.

He didn’t know how to tell her that she didn’t need to worry. He had no intention of ignoring her after she’d been Knighted. They wouldn’t be bound to each other, but they wouldn’t be separated either. He hadn’t been from Anakin, and he wouldn’t be from her. If she believed that, though, she was still anxious about the future. She didn’t cling, but she also didn’t allow herself to move on. She’d had one foot in the past ever since Anakin left.

Obi-Wan hoped this mission would bring her closure.

He allowed that hope to buoy him up as they walked, all in a line like a family of ducks. He didn’t bother with a sweep of his own yet; he didn’t know enough, and it could wait. Instead, he admired the estate as a guest.

It was a handsome house, so neatly tucked between trees and the lakeside that it looked as though it’d been there forever. The pale stone walls matched exposed bedrock, blending its foundation seamlessly. Even the spires that broke up the treeline had domes colored like the sky. The roof tiles were so sunbaked and old that some were cracking. They’d need replacing soon, and so would parts of the outer garden wall. Thick arms of ivy crept into the weak places, accompanied by leaning trees so heavy with fruit it was a wonder they didn’t snap.

Following Padmé and her people up a set of stairs that fed into a path leading to a gated courtyard, he imagined this was another summer: last year’s, or the one before, and that he really was only coming to visit. He pictured himself finding Anakin and the children playing, covered in grass and dirt with their hair untamed. He pictured them smiling, happy with everything and ever so pleased that they came, and tried guessing how it’d feel to have them leap into his arms.

“I can hear you,” Ahsoka cooed, breaking the thought up. He looked aside to find her staring at him. Her excited expression had flagged, but not overly much, and only in sympathy. “Relax, master. I’m sure he’s excited, too.”

He felt a faint pop of color in his cheeks and wondered if he could blame it on the sun. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t.” The girl sped up. “Don’t forget to take out the dolls.”

He stared after her, watching her come to flank Padmé. Whatever conversation the senator had been having with Captain Typho broke off, forgotten when she realized that the Togruta had caught up. Reunited, the pair picked up an older conversation. Obi-Wan couldn’t hear it over the slap of water or the din of the half dozen others all weaving together. Well, that was fine. Let them have their secrets.

He passed the rest of the walk to the courtyard alone. 

It wasn’t long, and he used it to do as Ahsoka suggested. Adjusting his bag so that it slung across his front, he fished through the contents for the dolls. When he found them, he tucked them both in the lining of his robe and shouldered the bag again.

He focused on their weight as he and the rest of their party crossed into the courtyard. It was lined on all sides with trees, the ground between them dotted with fallen fruit that smelled so sweetly of rot that Obi-Wan tasted jam. And it was almost as he’d expected, so very close that his heart threatened to pop. Anakin and the children weren’t playing, but they were together in the sun.

At the center of the yard, not even on a blanket, the three of them were sitting with their legs crossed. The children had obviously dressed themselves; Luke’s tunic and pants didn’t match, and Leia’s dress was so stained and frayed that it must’ve been her favorite. Both their cheeks were red from the heat and their hair was messy. Leia’s was especially awful; her braids had come loose, the weave bulging unevenly and stuck all through with leaf litter. She looked as though her father had plucked her out of the woods.

Anakin, more put together—a fact Obi-Wan attributed to his wife— had a holopuck in his lap, active and spitting up pictures that seemed to go along with a story he was telling. The children were enraptured, wide eyes hardly blinking as they watched and their father spoke. 

From the gate it wasn’t quite audible, but Anakin’s woody tone carried. Obi-Wan felt it like a kiss to the throat. His voice was nicer without the static of a long range comm connection, and holos had never done him justice. Obi-Wan had always known this. He’d seen the stories various HoloNet channels ran, and whether they used footage from the war or his personal life, they never caught him right. There was stiffness to his movements, and a heat he gave off that holovid couldn’t communicate. The dry pine of his Force signature couldn’t worm through the circuitry, leaving him seeming, if handsome, a bit unremarkable. Here, though, in person, with his skin gone nutty brown and his presence so settled and easy that the day spun around him, Obi-Wan felt as he had so often: helplessly drawn to him.

He didn’t look at Ahsoka. He could feel his Padawan smirking.

One of their party whistled, catching Anakin’s attention. The man paused, one hand in the air as he mimed flight. He caught sight of his wife, then Ahsoka, then Obi-Wan, and smiled so widely that it must’ve hurt his face.

He powered down the puck, and before his children could whine gestured to the party by the gate. Luke and Leia twisted where they sat and when they saw their mother let out two pitchy shrieks and scrambled to their feet. They bolted across the courtyard, leaving the woman hardly enough time to drop her bags before she was crashed into. She had to struggle through their attempts to leap into her arms to kneel and scoop them to her chest for a hug.

“I guess you missed me,” she said, to which she got less of an answer than a bombardment. The twins’ voices trampled all over each other to say hello, and to tell her which trees they’d climbed, how many shuura they’d collected, and how far out from the shore they’d learned to swim to.

It was a racket, and it took them several minutes to calm down. When they did, it was only because their mother’s company finally caught their attention. Luke saw Ahsoka first, and recognizing her gave another squeal. He tugged hard on his sister’s arm and when she looked over Leia blinked, confused even as she realized who she was looking at.

Obi-Wan watched her try to puzzle out how the Togruta was standing there, biting back a chuckle at the sharp pinch of her brow.

“‘Soka?” the little girl asked, as though she’d ever met another Togruta. When Ahsoka nodded, Leia cocked her head. “You got out.”

Ahsoka didn’t appear to know what to make of that. Obi-Wan had to try even harder to suppress a laugh. It seemed the senator was right. Leia hadn’t figured out how holopucks worked. Her brother didn’t seem to have either, but was far more willing to accept.

“Uh—” His Padawan glanced at him. Her brow pinched to match Leia’s, and they could’ve been sisters from who they’d both clearly learned it from. “Yea,” she said slowly, taking her master’s nod as encouragement. “Yea. I guess I did.”

Leia continued to stare, dark eyes moving between him and Ahsoka as though she were coming to a very important decision. Luke interrupted the process, tugging again to drag her away from Padmé. Whether she had more questions or not, the girl allowed it.

Luke brought them to Ahsoka and dove back into his chatter, peppering in questions about her montrals and patterns. Padmé looked mortified, but Ahsoka didn’t mind. She crouched to be close to them and smiled, flashing her teeth. That more than anything seemed to distract Leia. Her worry over the mechanics of holopuck melted and she shuffled a little closer. Much to her mother’s embarrassment, Leia asked why Ahsoka had tusk-cat teeth.

“I promise,” the woman whispered, “they usually aren’t this rude.”

Distracted as his Padawan was, Obi-Wan answered for her. “They’re only curious. She’d tell them herself if she minded.” Gathering the ends of his robe Obi-Wan crouched to join them. “I don’t suppose I’m anywhere near as interesting.”

As if in their excitement they’d forgotten all about him, the twins blinked in surprise to find him at eye level. That quickly gave way to interest and they turned to flock him instead. He had to force his balance to reset when they hopped in to hug him.

“My,” he laughed, teetering on his heels, “your parents didn’t say you’d gotten so strong. I’m afraid you’re quite grown up. Maybe _too_ grown up, actually, for what I brought you.”

He didn’t mean it. He only said so to build suspense, and it worked. The twins pulled back to eye him. Their little mouths were open, not quite smiling, and their eyes glinted greedily like children’s always did when someone mentioned presents.

He pretended to reconsider. “Well, perhaps you could have it anyway.” He reached up to ruffle Luke’s hair and tugged instinctively on Leia’s braid. “Why don’t we ask your father?”

They didn’t need any more encouragement. A single purpose in mind, the pair bolted back to Anakin. He was lounging with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles by then, his weight balanced back on his palms. He was smiling at and apparently sharing looks with his wife, because when the children reached him he wasn’t prepared. Luke fell hard in his lap and the man made a pained cough, though he wasn’t given time to recover before getting hounded.

On the other side of Ahsoka, Padmé snickered.

"What?" he asked, straightening out of his crouch.

"Nothing." She shook her head, curls bouncing over her shoulders. "It just didn't take you long to start causing trouble."

"That? I assure it, it's nowhere near the trouble I was caused."

"If you say so." Her smile stretched fondly. "Do I at least get to see them first?"

"See what?"

"The gifts. I've been in suspense the longest."

Ah. Well, that was certainly true, but he felt more self conscious about them now than before. Ahsoka's assessment had been a bit harsh, and while the children were unlikely to be critical, he wasn't so sure their mother wouldn't be.

"If you like," he said anyway, because he rarely had the heart to refuse her. "If you promise to be kind. I really did do my best."

"I didn't say they were _bad_ ," Ahsoka groaned, standing herself. "It was constructive criticism, master. I was just trying to help."

He made to say something back, but Padmé interrupted.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's fine." She came to stand in front of him, blocking the children's view. "Come on. Just a quick look."

He hummed, pretending to be mulling it over, but something about the moment must've given him away. How his fingers played with the edge of his robe, perhaps, or how one elbow was drawn protectively. Either way, she figured his hiding place out.

"Come on," she repeated, her fingers joining his. She tugged at one side of his robe, parting it slightly, demanding entry, and he swallowed, once again feeling helpless, and gave in without any more fuss.

After bullying his arm out of the way and finding his concealed pocket, she tugged one of the dolls halfway out. Her brow furrowed for a second before her expression smoothed, unreadable, and she gave the unevenly stuffed creature a squeeze. She ran a quick once over: rolled some of its hair between her fingers, trailing a nail down its face and to its chest. She didn't, like Ahsoka had, make any mention of its limp arm. She seemed more immediately interested in the heart.

"Obi," she breathed, voice gone soft, and traced the stitched outline almost reverently. She didn’t say anything else, and he made to cover for her. 

"I know," he tried to tease. "It’s rather ugly."

Padmé shook her head and tucked it back in. "I think it’s perfect."

No one joined him when he went to Anakin. He thought that at least Padmé and Ahsoka would, but the women declined, saying they needed to unpack. From across the courtyard they mimed as much to Anakin and he waved them off, shouting back that he'd see them at dinner. After that the pair and all the guards, handmaidens, and troopers made for the veranda that dumped into the courtyard. They took everything, even the bag that Obi-Wan had over his shoulders. Ahsoka slipped it loose and muttered _try to save at least one hug for me_.

He waited for them to clear out before looking at Anakin again. The man was still lounging when he did and the children had settled. They must’ve gotten the answer they wanted because they were back with their legs crossed, staring expectantly like their father was. 

His old friend jerked his chin, and the motion made Obi-Wan feel as though he were caught on a string. He followed it without thinking, with each step feeling slightly more giddy, though he did his best to bite back a ridiculous grin. For his part, Anakin tried no such thing. He was beaming by the time Obi-Wan reached him, his energy stomping all around the courtyard like a rabbit. It was spry and delighted, and made the older man feel rather weak.

He stood looking down at the other, taking in the stretch of his body and tilt of his chin. He thought of everything he’d wanted to say over the last five years but hadn’t, and wondered if— _oh_ , maybe—

“Holovids did one thing for you,” Anakin said, disrupting the thought. Raising one hand, he tapped at his own temple. A thick braid started there, working back to tame some of his hair. “Didn’t realize you were getting so old.”

Obi-Wan laughed, because wasn’t that familiar? “It’s more to do with stress more than age, I assure you. Our Padawan will be the death of me.”

Anakin quirked a brow. “Ahsoka? The one you pulled out of class for this?”

His tone was flat and plainly unconvinced.

“Going to class doesn’t make one a saint, you know.”

“Makes it more likely.” The younger man wet his lips. “Are you going to sit down?”

Taking the invitation, Obi-Wan swept back the bottom of his robe and sank into a kneel. He was close enough to Anakin’s feet for the man’s toes to dip and touch him. They didn’t. For the moment, he maintained a polite distance.

“Heard you brought them something.”

The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched up. “Did you?”

He nodded. “If you aren’t careful you’re going to spoil them.”

The older man snorted. He doubted they weren’t spoiled already. He’d spent a lot of time over holo watching Anakin get worked over. Leia had long since figured out that she had his heart threaded through her fingers. She, at least, got everything she pouted for. 

“I don’t think one gift will hurt. Though, if you aren’t sure—”

“Didn’t say that,” Anakin interrupted. “Just warning you. They get grabby.”

“Never you mind. I know all about grabby children.” Before Anakin could parse out if that was a dig at him, Obi-Wan turned his attention back to Luke and Leia. “Did he say you could have them?” They nodded excitedly. “Come here, then.”

They scrambled over, staining their clothes more deeply with grass. If Anakin was worried about that, it didn’t show. He wasn’t far behind, though admittedly he showed more restraint. Still, in very little time his knees were close. He wedged between his children, close enough to brush, and Obi-Wan wondered how he’d forgotten that Anakin was so warm.

“You must be good to them,” he said softly, and the children did, to their credit, appear to listen. “I made them myself, so they won’t last forever.” He thought about Anakin’s turning to rags. “Ask your father. I’m sure he remembers.”

“Remember what?” the other asked.

Obi-Wan waved the question off, then reached into his robes to pull the dolls out. He sorted out which was for who before holding them for inspection, feeling, in spite of himself, the faintest bit nervous.

It turned out to be unwarranted. They snatched the dolls immediately, Luke’s eye caught by the patchwork of his own and Leia’s, most distressingly, by the weak arm Ahsoka had identified. The girl flopped hers around by it, giggling as it flailed. 

Obi-Wan winced but resisted the urge to tell her to stop. It was a gift, and she could treat it however she wanted. He didn’t relish the idea of Ahsoka finding the arm in a few days though. Stars knew where it’d get ripped off and thrown to.

“They’re part of a family,” he said, though the twins were no longer as interested. “Some of the children at the temple where I live have one of their own, and your father did at one point, as well.” 

He paused and looked up, hoping to catch Anakin’s eye. He didn’t. The man was focused on the doll in Luke’s hands. He was staring just as openly, and even reached for it. One finger traced along an awkward stitch. 

Obi-Wan felt a flush begin to creep up his neck. For a moment he was certain the man would criticise it. That wasn’t what happened, however. Instead, he kissed Luke’s temple and said, “You’re lucky. This looks better than mine.”

Promising to give back, he brushed Luke’s hands away and took the doll up for a better look. He brought it close to his face, turning it to follow the patchwork and admire the buttons down its torse.

“When did you learn to do those?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “A few dolls ago.”

The man hummed, thumbing the heart next to the largest button. He swept over it a few times before squeezing tight. Luke, starting to look impatient, grabbed the nearest foot.

“He’s right,” he said. “You want to be careful with these.” Somewhat reluctantly, he passed the doll back. When it was safely in Luke’s arms he turned his attention to Leia. “I’m talking to you, womp rat. Try not to murder it.”

Leia didn’t look as though she planned on listening. Even when she stopped shaking her doll, she held its bad arm. Anakin shook his head. 

“You’re going to be sorry when it’s as flat as mine is.”

Obi-Wan’s mind snagged on the wording. “Is?”

“Yea. It’s—” The other broke off, seeming to simultaneously realize what he was saying and that it was too late to walk back. “I, ah, keep it in the workshop.”

“In your workshop," the older man repeated. “Where? On your bench, or a shelf?”

The other must’ve imagined a tease in his tone because his mouth pursed and he grumbled, “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“What moment might that be?”

Anakin returned his attention to Luke’s doll. “The one where I was thinking about saying that it’s good to see you.”

* * *

He ended up not saying it, but it wasn’t necessary. Anakin made his pleasure at having company clear. After a few minutes of watching the children play, he called two guards in from some back edge of the courtyard and asked them to mind Luke and Leia a while. Hopping to his feet, he dusted the grass from himself before offering to help the older man off his knees. Using the leverage, he dragged Obi-Wan into a hug that surprised him so much that it took him a moment to return it.

Anakin looked self-conscious when they separated, but he recovered quickly enough for Obi-Wan to forget. Straightening the tunic his old master had rumpled, he offered to walk him around the island before going inside to join Ahsoka and his wife. Obi-Wan agreed; there was still some light left, and the heat of the day had broken under a breeze that blew over the lake, filling the air with the cool smell of water. It was nice out, and the older man found that he wanted to stay.

Anakin was happy to oblige. After fixing the lay of his belt, which held— not a saber. He’d given that up, so despite the similar length, it must’ve been something else— the younger man led him to the back of the courtyard. There, through a wide arch, several paths splintered off. Some ran off toward gardens that faced the pier, and others down to different parts of the lake front, and one directly into the darkening woods. 

“The guard house is through there,” he said, nodding to the trees, and if he squinted Obi-Wan could just make it out. “It’s just for shift change and surveillance. They don’t have to live there or anything, but I’m starting to think that Captain Omara does.”

Obi-Wan thought back to the introductions at the boathouse, trying to recall someone by that name.

“Was the captain with the group that met us?”

“No. She’s reviewing cam footage. We had an incident last night.” He paused, then tacked on stiffly: “You can meet her later.”

 _Incident_ could only mean one thing. He was itching to ask, but for the moment resisted. There was plenty of time, and it’d be better if Ahsoka and Cody were present. There were more benefits to hearing the story simultaneously than not.

“I look forward to it,” he said, then changed the subject. He gestured to the path running left toward a break in a wall. The way the island curved obscured most of it, but he could smell florals. “Is that the garden I saw coming up from the lake?”

Anakin’s shoulders relaxed. He seemed grateful not to have been asked, which Obi-Wan could understand. He and his wife were getting stretched thin.

“Part of it,” he said, then placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s back to guide him. “Padmé’s great grandfather designed it to be modular, so most of what you saw was just the Shuura grove. There’s a few nooks for flowers, some for shrubs, a couple for grass, and—”

Obi-Wan cut him off. “I didn’t realize you had a green thumb.”

Actually, he’d known it to be the opposite. When he was still an apprentice, Obi-Wan had given Anakin several plants. He thought they might cheer the other’s rooms up, which were often dark and full of metal. Unfortunately, Anakin had never managed to keep them alive. Eventually, Obi-Wan had given up on trying to instill an interest in growing things in his young friend. The last he’d heard, Anakin still didn’t know the difference between grass and flower stems. It was pleasantly surprising to learn he’d figured at least something out.

Anakin’s smile hooked sheepishly and the hand on Obi-Wan’s back shifted, its thumb smoothing over the older man’s spine. 

“I’m getting better at it," he said, "but I admit to killing a couple of dozen things first.”

Whatever it was he’d killed, it must’ve been replaced. When they crossed through the gardens, nothing was obviously missing. Obi-Wan couldn’t even identify a place where something new might fit. Most of the garden was spilling with plants and flowers. The central hub the partition led to was a wide, clear ring of neatly trimmed grass with a fountain at the heart. Along the back curve were several rows of Shuura trees, which Obi-Wan guessed were the ones he’d seen on ascent. Off to either side were smaller rings overflowing with plants that attracted bumbling insects and likely small rodents. They were colorful pods and, if a little overwhelming, plainly cared for. They were growing so well that they threatened to overtake each other.

Handsome as they were, Obi-Wan was most interested in the trees. He could see huge hangs of fruit that were perfectly ripe. He could almost feel how easily the flesh would give under his teeth, and wondered if it’d be rude to ask for one.

It must’ve been obvious what he wanted, because Anakin said, “Save your appetite. The cook’s got a few pies baking for after dinner.”

The thought of that had Obi-Wan tasting the syrupy pie filling for the rest of the tour. It was a little distracting, as was the way Anakin’s thumb kept pressing. No so distracting, of course, that he lost focus. By the time the tour was over, Obi-Wan could’ve, at least somewhat confidently, found his way around Varykino in the dark. 

That’d largely been the purpose, he knew. It was as tactical as much as it was entertainment. The slight strain to Anakin’s smile told him so.

* * *

“There,” Skywalker’s captain, a woman named Omara, said, pausing the vid they’d been watching for the last five minutes. She tapped a finger against the top left corner. “Did you see?”

“Sorry, sir,” Cody said. “Not really.”

The woman backed it up thirty seconds and tried again. When she hit pause for the second time, the screen was empty. All he could see were trees in the eerie night vision light. “How about now?”

“Still nothing.” He didn’t get it. 

Maybe it was some kind of hazing. A lot of them did that with new batches of shinies, but— no. This wasn’t the time for that. Whatever was going on here wasn’t anything to joke about. Even if it was, Captain Omara didn’t look like the type. She hadn’t stopped frowning since he and his men got to the guard house. 

After dropping off the luggage they’d helped bring up on the veranda, a few of her people had said she wanted to meet them immediately. He’d been expecting that. He didn’t think they’d get the night off. When she heard them come in, she’d gotten up from the compustation she was working at and given a crisp salute. She’d asked their names, ranks, and specialities, which probably meant she was friendly, but how she scowled made it clear the last few months hadn’t been easy.

She sighed, not sounding surprised. “Keep your eyes here and try not to blink. I’m going to rewind again and play it back at quarter speed. Don’t look away for a second.”

He didn’t. He stared hard at the spot she’d first indicated as she wound back. She warned him before the restart, and he forced himself not to blink as footage of the woods from the night before resumed its slow scroll. 

And then he saw it, or at least, saw what might’ve been something. The corner of the screen smeared and the captain paused at the same moment.

“Did you catch it?” she asked.

“I think so. What is it?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Leaving the capture where it was, she fussed with a few controls and cleaned up the still. Some of the graininess sharpened, and the smear took on a sort of human shape. The quality wasn’t good. Whatever it was must’ve been running like hell.

“That,” Omara said, swivelling her chair to face him and his men, “is the first and only shot we’ve managed to get of these people.”

“You’re not serious.” She _looked_ serious. “All respect sir, but that’s nothing.”

“I know.”

He glanced over his shoulder, first at his men, then hers. A handful were at a table by the door, drinking caf and getting ready for the first round of nightwatch. He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe for one of them to admit it was a joke.

“What about other cams?” he asked when that didn’t happen. “Noticed you’ve got quite a set up here.” He gestured to the suite of screens behind her. “That can’t be the only feed in the area.”

“It’s not,” she confirmed. “In that part of the woods alone, we’ve got six other devices. None of them have been tampered with. They’re fully functional and omnidirectional, and that’s still the only image we’ve got.”

Cody squinted at it again, for all the good it did. The best he could make out was that being was humanoid. He couldn’t get a read on features, a potential gender, or guess where it’d come running from. It was absolutely of no use to him.

“I’m showing you this,” she continued, “because I want to give you an idea of what we’re dealing with here. I’m not an idiot, and my men aren't either. Nothing bigger than a water bug has gotten under our noses before, and now?” She spread her hands. “Suddenly a whole karkin’ theatre troupe is jogging through.”

Her scowl dipped deeper. It didn’t look like it sat well with her, having to admit that she didn’t know what to do. Cody felt for her. He’d been in that position a few times himself. It made you question if your people could rely on you.

“That changes now,” he assured. “General— ah, Anakin.” It was an awkward correction. Saying it still didn’t sound right. “ _Anakin_ requested General Kenobi for his reputation.”

“So I’ve heard. He thinks he’s the best. Is that true?”

“Can’t think of one better.”

“Good.” She licked her teeth. “Because I’ve known Padmé a long time. She’s not just my boss. She’s a friend; a good friend, and those kids mean a lot to me. Nothing’s happening to them. We clear on that?”

Her gaze fell on each member of Cody’s group in turn. When it got back to him, it was heavy and hard.

“Crystal,” he said. “We’re going to do everything we can. Skywalker is—” He trailed off. He didn’t know if there was a word for what Anakin Skywalker was. It was hard to say what men like him and General Kenobi meant to troopers. No one Cody knew had ever not felt like a _person_ to them. 

“He did a lot of things for us that he didn’t have to," he decided on after a beat, which was true enough that he didn't mind leaving there. "We’re not going to let him down.”

Captain Omara sized him up for a little longer. When she was satisfied, she nodded and scrubbed at her face. She brushed back a few locks of hair that’d come loose from her crown braid before finishing what she wanted to say.

“I don’t know what the new plan is. It’s not getting finalized until tomorrow, so for now we’re going to stick with what we know. It’s not perfect, but it hasn’t gotten anyone killed or kidnapped yet. Given the circumstances, I’d say that’s almost a miracle.” She reached for a canteen at the corner of her station. When she uncapped it, steam came belching out. “You’re all on the second watch. Raf’s team lead, and he should be here soon. He’ll tell you anything else you want to know.”

* * *

Padmé didn’t understand half of what Ahsoka and Anakin were saying, but she was enjoying listening to them anyway. It’d been a while since her husband had sounded excited about anything. She’d have to thank the girl later for bringing her mouse droid along.

“Here’s your problem,” he said as he dug a pair of needle nose tools through the poor thing’s guts. He and Ahsoka had it flayed, and both were picking at it. “You hooked the wires for the propulsion system up wrong.”

“No I didn’t.” She was speaking slowly but impatiently. “This is a new model. Blue is _supposed_ to hook up there.”

“What? Since when?” Anakin’s brow creased. “And how’d you know I meant the blue one?”

“You’re predictable.”

Padmé covered a laugh by taking another sip of wine. Her second glass was nearly empty and she felt warm. The fire probably had something to do with that. She was on the couch in front of it, and the only thing blocking the roar were the bodies on the floor: Anakin’s and Ahsoka’s, bent over a droid so small they were getting in each other’s way, and Luke and Leia falling asleep despite insisting they weren’t tired, arms tight around their new dolls.

It was almost surreal, how pleasant the day had been. Coming home always felt a little like a dream, and having Obi-Wan and Ahsoka with her only dialed the quality up, as did the fact that they hadn’t talked business yet. Anakin had cut her off the few times she tried, and while it’d been annoying in the moment, she was grateful now. However long this was going to take, there’d be plenty of time to agonize over details. For now, it felt good to pretend there was nothing _to_ agonize over.

Dinner had been lovely, and dessert even better. She wasn’t sure who Anakin had asked the cook to make the pies for, but she knew Obi-Wan liked shuuras as much as she did, and the sound he’d made as he took the first bite raised her suspicions. Not that she minded. She’d done a lot of things over the years with Obi-Wan’s enjoyment in mind. She had less practice than her husband did; they were close, but Anakin still knew him better, and it was a little thrilling to see how easily he’d gotten it right.

She might ask him about it later, or she might not. There might be something else she was more interested in then. It’d been months, after all, and she’d missed Anakin, missed their _bed_. When they finally sneaked off to it, thoughts of Obi-Wan might get shoved to the backburner.

For now, he was still simmering at the front. How close he was made it impossible for him not to. He was on the couch with her, sipping wine of his own. He’d taken his heavy robe off and left it somewhere a few hours ago. Down to his tunic and tabards, knees splayed all wide and lazy with one arm draped over the back of the couch, he looked cozy, and it was difficult not to lean into him. How solid and warm he looked made her want to lie down.

“My friend,” he laughed, glancing over suddenly, “I believe you’re drunk.”

“Hm?” She blinked, realizing that she’d been staring, though she couldn’t have guessed for how long. She laughed then too, at herself for how silly she was being. Maybe she was drunk. She wouldn’t admit that, though. “What makes you think so?”

“You’ve gone all pink.”

“Maybe I’m warm from the fire.”

He shook his head. “I don’t just mean your face.”

Not sure what that meant, she waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, her brow creased. “Are you teasing me?”

Anakin did that sometimes. Maybe it was a Jedi joke.

“I assure you, senator, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He took another sip. The tilt exposed his throat. Color was creeping up it from under his collar. She thought about saying that he was pink, too, that all that wine was starting to show, but before she had a chance to he continued.

“Your husband is as well.” He leaned towards her slightly, lowering his voice like they were sharing a secret. “Though, he’s trying very hard to keep Ahsoka from noticing.”

Taking his cue, she angled in herself. “How can you tell?” 

Her voice down to a whisper, she glanced aside to the pair as discreetly as she could. _She_ could tell by looking, of course. She knew Anakin’s body intimately, but wondered what Obi-Wan saw that’d given him away.

Maybe it was how relaxed his shoulders were. Even when he was in a good mood, he carried tension there. Or no— not tension, precisely. Expectation. He had clear, if often wrong, ideas about what others expected to see when they looked at him. It affected how he carried himself, threw his weight, and how he talked, even with people he was close to. He’d gotten better about it over the last few years, but some habits were hard to break.

He wasn’t tense anywhere then, and it made him look much younger. He was smiling widely at Ahsoka, eyes glittering and warm. He was speaking softly, stumbling boyishly over his words the way he did when he wasn’t worried about impressing anyone. It was sweet. Seeing him so at ease made her throat feel squeezed, and it was so distracting that she almost forgot she’d asked a question.

“I can sense it,” Obi-Wan said after a moment, reminding her. That wasn’t really helpful, but when she looked back at him to say as much, she found he wasn’t looking at Anakin at all. He was still staring at her. “Just as I can sense that you’re in need of a good night’s rest.”

That was a delicate way of putting it. It still made her stomach churn, though. As enjoyable as the night was, she was aware of how dark it’d gotten. Their guards and Cody’s men were out there somewhere with eyes on everything, but it didn’t matter. It never did. Someone still got _in_. Not to the house yet, thankfully, but so close that she knew, down in the marrowy middles of her bones, that they’d do that soon. She just didn’t know when or what they were waiting for, which might’ve been the worst part of it all.

“I’m almost afraid to try.”

Admitting it made her feel like a child, but Obi-Wan was as kind about it as he was everything. He smiled, all pink cheeks, and let his hand slip off the back of the couch. It came to rest on her shoulder, solid and warm.

“You don’t have to be. Do you trust me?” She nodded. She did, completely. “Promise me you’ll sleep, then. You have my word that they’ll still be here when you wake.”

That didn’t seem like a promise anyone could make. It felt good to hear him say it, though, and she chose to believe him. He was good. He was honest. He’d brought little dolls with hearts stitched on them. He loved Luke and Leia, and she didn’t think he’d let anyone touch them.

Her eyes felt wet and hot. She probably shouldn’t have had so much wine. Her head was swimmy and her muscles felt loose. It’d probably give her a headache and make it hard to get up for breakfast, and just now it was making her foolish. 

She wanted to tell him something. A few things, actually: that she was grateful he hadn’t let someone else come; that she couldn’t imagine trusting anyone else with her children but him and Ahsoka; that she wished his first visit had been about anything else. She thought about asking if he knew how much it meant to her, to _Anakin_ , to walk by a spare room and see his luggage on a bed.

She thought about it, but didn’t, because he wasn’t wrong; she was a little drunk, and she knew from experience that was never the best time to say anything.

* * *

“He’s scared,” Ahsoka said after they’d retired for the night, as though the fact hadn’t sunk in until that moment.

Obi-Wan rolled his head on his pillow to peer across at her bed. At least, where he knew her bed to be. Their room was dark. The only light in it slanted in through the window from the moon, which wasn’t anywhere near full that night. There was a lamp between them on a shared nightstand, but it wasn’t on. It hadn’t been for an hour. They’d turned it off when they climbed into their respective bunks, and she’d been so quiet since that he assumed she’d fallen asleep.

“He is,” Obi-Wan agreed, because there wasn’t any point to not, “and for good reason.”

“I know. It’s just—” She paused. Obi-wan heard the crinkle of her burrowing deeper in blankets. “He usually isn’t. I can’t even remember the last time he was.”

Obi-Wan could. He remembered it so clearly it made him uneasy. He remembered every time Anakin had come to him afraid, and all the times he hadn’t but the older man noticed anyway. It had always been his responsibility to notice: first as a master, then as a friend. Close as the pair had been, Ahsoka had only ever been Anakin’s Padawan. As such, Anakin had been careful with what he revealed.

He imagined it was strange for the girl to see him so clearly. No doubt recently, they’d had many frank conversations. She’d almost certainly seen new aspects of him since he stepped down from his role as her master, but she likely hadn’t seen this. There’d have been no reason to.

There was a freedom that came with being only a person’s friend, one that was even more pronounced after the end of a structured relationship. There were more things to share, most of which were pleasant. Some, though, came with responsibility. The field between Ahsoka and Anakin had leveled enough for her to be entrusted with his fear, and Obi-Wan suspected that she felt too clumsy for it. He suspected that she would for several days.

He thought carefully about what he wanted to say. It was a teachable moment, and he didn’t want to waste it. They were getting fewer and farther between now that she was older.

“You’re empathetic,” he said eventually. “The ability to sense such things is one of your gifts. There’s a limit to it, though. Like anyone else, you can only truly see what you’re allowed to.” He worked a hand under his pillow to prop his head up. It was soft against his cheek and smelled cottony clean. “He’s been afraid before, but for much of that time you were his responsibility. He needed to protect you, but he’s yours now. You’re the Jedi. He trusts you enough to let you _see_. It’s an honor.”

For a long while, she was so quiet that Obi-Wan might’ve thought she’d gone to sleep if it weren’t for how she fidgeted. He could hear her blankets shuffling, and when he reached out through the Force, felt the anxious twisting of her energy. He soothed it as best he could, sending soft waves of his own to brush against her exposed and itching nerves.

She let him, and when it settled her she said, “Nothing’s going to happen.”

She sounded determined. He wondered which one of them she was trying to convince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading again!


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